


Blood must have blood

by Jojjokiwi



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Dark Steve Rogers, Dark!Bucky, Dark!Steve, Depression, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Flashbacks, Guard Bucky, Guard Steve, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Litchfield Prison, Multi, OFC/reader - Freeform, Officer!Bucky, Orange is the New Black References, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PTSD, Prison, Prison Guard Bucky, Prison Guard Steve, Prison guards - Freeform, Rape by Bucky, Rape by Steve, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reader Is An Inmate, Suicidal Thoughts, dark bucky barnes, officer!Steve, reader is hurt!, reader is orginal character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 44
Words: 250,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24288001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jojjokiwi/pseuds/Jojjokiwi
Summary: Reader/Jess Harper has already survived abuse and sexual assault by stepbrother Nate Millers, but the reward was a prison sentence for murder at Litchfield penitentiary…What happens when you/Jess comes face to face with Nate’s old colleagues and friends, Correctional Officers Steve Rogers and James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, who both seem set on making you pay for your mistakes. Will you be able to survive it all over again?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Reader, Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 814
Kudos: 441





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! :) Welcome to my very first fic, I am glad you found it! I am very new to fanfiction but after reading a few hundred of them I thought I might as well give it a shot and share this on-going story with you lovely people :) (I'm Swedish and have no idea about the American laws at all, so everything is pure fiction and please don't let any inaccuracies get in the way of enjoying the story)
> 
> Inspired by OITNB and set at Litchfield but the reader does not take Piper's place, and it does not follow the story of OITNB. 
> 
> It's written as "you", but "you" are called Jess Harper (OFC), around 20 at the most, a very hurt and troubled young woman who has already survived abuse and rape by her stepbrother Nate Millers (OMC). She is very depressed and damaged, has PTSD and anxiety. This is a violent, depressing fic and Steve and Bucky are both assholes in this! They will eventually understand the true story and feel quilty about everything they've done to you, but that takes a while and in the mean time they get up to a lot of shit... I'm not sure where this fic is going, I have several endings in my head so warning of potential suicide, major character death and possible druguse! 
> 
> I do NOT have a Beta so any mistakes are my own. Please leave a comment and let me know what you think! I really appreciate it :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Suicidal thoughts and mentions of death as well as a panic attack. You have been warned.

Cream colored walls, flickering fluorescent lights hissing in the ceiling, and the stench of a full building and all closed windows reeked through the hallways. Prison. Not jail, prison. There was no bail, no getting out in sight. You felt the walls creeping closer from the moment you stepped foot in this place, caging you in. As if you weren’t already caged in. 

The officer, Bell, you gathered from the stitching on her shirt, led you by the arm towards the check-in. Her grip was a nice medium between sweet and ‘don’t even think about it’. She was a burly woman, a redhead with an attitude and jersey accent. She hadn’t wasted her breath on anything other than what she was obliged to say, speeding through the process to get to her lunch break, you guessed by the time. Most noticeable was that she didn’t pay attention to you like people on the outside did. No ‘how are you feeling’ or ‘it’s gonna be okay’. You were an inmate, nothing more. It scared you. Emptied you somehow. It truly was a hollowing feeling.

You passed through the front quickly, though your body was stiff as a board the entire time. The dreaded strip-search had gone by with only a gasp from the officer at the sight of your body before she checked herself, and kept her tone as wooden and clear-cut as with everything else. She made no comment on it, nor did her eyes linger on certain parts more than others. Your discomfort must have been prominent throughout, the trembles, the flinches and the frightful expression painted all over your face. If she noticed, she made no remark. A sigh of relief escaped you afterwards, thankful that the officer was the way she was. You preferred this to overly shocked and interrogating to get the story. The story your mind never wanted to linger on.

You were handed your shoes and washed-out khakis along with two towels with soap and shampoo, and headed towards the B-dorm where you were assigned a bunk straightaway with a small, quiet girl who skimmed out of there at the sight of the CO. You were the only inmate being processed today so it made the run-through fast.

“Alright, Harper,” officer Bell bellowed, and all but shoved you into the shared space. “That’s your bunk, keep it clean and well-made, let the other inmates show you how it’s done. That right there is your locker and those are your hooks. Keep it tidy, keep it clean and you’ll stay out of trouble. You’ll meet your counselor after lunch which is in an hour, follow the herd and I’m sure you’ll find it,” she said, turning around the corner before ending the sentence. This was it. 

This was not what was supposed to happen. This was not how you’d be free. The ending of years and years of abuse was not supposed to end with you in prison for murder. But it had. You shouldn’t have picked up that knife. You should have just stayed down, and let him kill you. 

O.o.O.o.O

The correctional officers Steve Rogers and James ‘Bucky’ Barnes paced the hallways, heading towards the cafeteria. They had heard the news of your little escapade, and your arrival at the prison, not believing it for a second to be self-defense. For them, it was personal. 

To you, your stepbrother Nate had been an abuser, a rapist, a sadist and a monster. To them, he was a colleague, almost calling him a friend. A friendly drink sometimes after work, sharing an interest in motorcycles, enjoying the correctional part of the job more than anything else. 

So, when the news hit that CO Nate Millers had met his demise at the hands of his younger stepsister, the cops calling it a horrible homicide, their hatred for you had been ignited. The fact of the odds of you affectively killing him, should you had planned it, being stacked against you didn’t seem to faze them in their mission for justice. Despite your small stature, lithe and in comparison, weak form, you were nothing more than a murdering piece of shit insect to be crushed beneath their boots. 

“Think she’s here yet?” Bucky asked as he looked around the loud and crowded cafeteria. Steve did the same. 

“No,” he said. “She’s a newt. The newts are always slackin’.” 

O.o.O.o.O

You wandered the hallways in hopes of finding the cafeteria if you just followed the crowd, like CO Bell had recommended. You must have looked like a scared rabbit peeking out of its hole to see if the hunter was gone, looking worriedly past corners and being spooked by the smallest movement. 

“You look lost,” a soft voice said. 

You all but jumped out of your skin right there. You turned around at the sound, being met by a small, slim bodied woman with short, thin blonde hair. You looked down at the tag hanging from her neckline; Jones. She was the embodiment of friendliness. You exhaled, shoulders inching down from your ears.

“Oh, hi, hi,” you started. She smiled back at you, patiently waiting for you to continue. “Um, I’m look-looking for the cafeteria. Do you-do you know where it is?” 

She smiled at you, and clamed your fidgety hands with her own. 

“Come on, it’s this way.” She ushered you further down the hallway. “It’s not easy being new. You’ll get the hang of it soon enough-” she bent down slightly in front of you in order to read your tag “-Harper.” 

You smiled back at her. 

“Thank you for being so nice to me. I-I didn’t think people would be so nice in prison.”

“Oh, honey, just because we’re criminals doesn’t mean we’re rude.” 

Jones walked you to the cafeteria, showing you the ropes and telling you how eating-time worked. She even invited you to sit at her table and meet her ‘family’. There was the lesbian junkie with crazy unruly hair called Nichols, the sweet and girly Morello who immediately complimented you on your bright blue eyes, the nun who welcomed you with a ‘God bless you, dear’ and a smile. They all seemed nice enough, joking and teasing each other over various ongoing things it seemed, giving you time to find the pace and settle. Little did you know you had eyes on you the entire time. 

“There she is,” Bucky had said when Yoga brought you to the lunch line. “Don’t come across like a murdering bitch now, does she?” 

Steve scowled when looking at your scared form, fear and worry evident, despite Jones baby-sitting you the entire way. 

“No, she doesn’t. She managed to dice Millers though… that’s good enough for me.” The spite was seeping into every word, second by Bucky’s nodding. 

The kept a close eye on you, taking in your lithe body, scrunched up shoulders and shy smile, eating it up like cake on a birthday. 

“Alright, Baby Blues,” Nichols said, meaning you. “What you do to land yourself in here? What, was there a shoplifting incident gone wrong or something?” she chuckled. 

You looked down nervously, clearing your throat several times over in hopes of finding the words. 

“We-well, um, no. I-I-I, there-there was an incident. With my brother. Stepbrother!” You were quick to add. “Kind of, a…um, self-defense situation gone… wrong.” 

You kept your eyes down on your food instead of meeting their eyes, letting them work it all out themselves. When you finally did dare sneak a peek, Nichols was watching you intently. 

“I don’t get it,” Morello pointed out, still chewing her food. 

Nichols made quick work of spelling it out for everyone. 

“She killed her brother.” 

Morello stopped chewing, releasing a weak ‘oh’. The nun drew a deep breath once realization hit her.

“Stepbrother,” you corrected. “It was an accident.” Nichols laughed. 

“Oh, I’m sure it was, kid! I-I mean, look at you. He’d have to be the tiniest thing in the world for you to up and murder the guy,” she chuckled, the others joining in, all in jest. “He wasn’t, was he?” she asked worriedly. “’Cause if he was, I’m gonna look like the biggest douchbag ever, ya know.” 

You forced a tug of your cheeks, grateful to have it be light-hearted more than anything.

“No, no, he wasn’t,” you said. “He was… a guard actually.” 

Morello pointed at you with her plastic fork. 

“Wait, you don’t mean Millers, do you?” You froze. 

“Who?” Yoga asked. 

“Oh, yeah,” Nicky said. “That Millers guy, remember? Short blonde hair, tattoos here and there, black spiral earing. Real sadistic fuck. Not like Pornstache, but you know. Not really a prodigy either.” Nichols looked at you worriedly. “You didn’t know he worked here?” she asked, chewing on the end of her fork, her food long gone. 

You just shook your head and whispered a ‘no’.

Nate never talked much about his job, only mentioning it in passing that he was a guard whenever he had come home to your parents’ house still in uniform. For all you knew, he could have been a security guard at a mall or something. 

You felt the familiar tension growing in your chest. Panic. Okay, you got this. Deep breaths, ground yourself. The fork is plastic, it bends. The table is metal, its hard and cold. The clothes on your body are still stiff and itching. You’re here. You’re here and now. Okay.

Your thoughts were still going haywire way back. Endless questions whirring around. Who knew the truth? Did the guards know you killed him? Did they know what he did to you? What would they do to you? Was it like cop-murder, where ‘you kill one, the rest hunt you down’?

“Well,” Nicky continued, pulling you back to the present. “Prison just got a lot worse for ya, Baby Blues.” 

When Nicky got up, the rest followed, leaving you behind with a still half-finished lunch on your tray, and a worry ten folded. So much for thankful present. 

CO Rogers and Barnes looked on, both men smirking when noticing the tearful eyes and solitude. You must have gotten the news. Both men zig-zagged through the tables in usual fashion to keep an eye on things. CO Rogers deliberately walked behind you when he saw you making ready to stand up with your tray, almost panic-stricken, causing you to bump right into the solid chest of the officer and dropping your tray back down on the table, causing food and water to spill. 

“Oh-” you gasped at the contact, not ready for anyone standing behind you.

“Watch it, inmate!” he shouted at you before you could open your mouth to apologize. 

You shook and whimpered out of fear of the muscly man towering over you. His jaw squared as he kept his cold, blue gaze set to you. Had the blond man looked at you with anything other than anger, you might have described him as handsome. But he didn’t. This was all too familiar. Play nice, Jess, you know this.

“I’m-I’m so sorry, sir, I-” you blabbered whilst trying to clean up the mess to take to the trash. 

“Keep a fucking eye out, inmate,” he spoke lowly. 

“Oh, um, yes, sir, I-I-” 

CO Barnes came up on your other side and interrupting your attempt at apologizing, speaking high enough for the whole cafeteria to hear.

“498,” he said. “Interfering with a staff member in performance of duties. That’s a shot, inmate.” 

Your eyes dashed to the other officer, his body just as chiseled, his eyes just as sharp. The brunet looked as menacing as the blond. Your eyes darted from one CO to the other, watching them smile and smirk as the panic rose in your chest. You didn’t understand any of it. How could you get a shot within the first few hours of being in prison? What did it even mean? 

CO Rogers disrupted your thoughts. 

“Move it, inmate. And clean up this fucking mess.” 

You adverted your eyes when both passed you to move on with their supervision of lunch. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Your voice was barely audible, the fear evident. It wasn’t hard to add an honorific every time you spoke to them. The muscle memory of pain was more than enough motivation.

They watched you as you cleaned up the mess in haste and threw away the trash. You had moved in such a hurry to get it all cleaned up that you hadn’t cared or noticed before now that you had gotten some mush on your clothes and hands. CO Rogers, now planted by the doors heading out of the cafeteria, noticed the mess of you and smiled at the sight. You kept your head down in hopes of going unnoticed when you made to pass him. 

“Better watch out, inmate,” he said, making you freeze. “Never know when someone’s behind your back.” 

You couldn’t help but think there was an underlying threat to his words. You hurried passed him, the concern now painted all over your face. The officers shared a smile behind your back as you all but ran past. They were gonna enjoy this.

Tears pricked your eyes, threatening to fall at any given moment as you rushed through the halls towards the bathroom, trying to find your way as quick as possible. It was a maze of corridors and stairs, and the inmates in your way made it feel more like a gauntlet. When you finally reached the seclusion of the B dorm bathroom, you hurriedly found an empty stall with a door and shut it hard behind you. Your entire body was shaking with the sobs escaping your mouth as you slid down the door. 

Everything came crashing down. The dam burst. Every fear, every worry, every guilty thought raced through your mind like a derailed train. This was worse than you could ever had imagined it, and you had had no illusion of prison. But to be incarcerated at Litchfield… He had worked here, he had spent his days and nights here with the other guards now in charge of you, in charge of not only your behavior, but your safety. And they could take that away with ease, should they choose to. 

You tried to muffle your cries, tried to stop your legs from kicking out in pure panic trying to get away from the situation, but it was no use. Overwhelming fear had seized your body, and refused to let go. Fear of total vulnerability and at the mercy of Nate’s fellow officers. The daily struggle of keeping alive and pain free was back. You hadn’t escaped it. You weren’t free. In any sense.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Mentions of past rape and molestation and the mental aftermath. Also a panic attack. You have been warned.

You had made it back to your bunk. You were sat leaning against the high, dividing wall with your arms around your knees, pressing tight in a solemn embrace of make-shift comfort, with tears still stinging your eyes. Years of accepting abuse and living in constant fear made it wickedly easy to accept your fate of unknown hurt coming your way. All you could do was muster up the same attentiveness and forced respect towards the ones now controlling your life. Should be easy enough, right? 

Your roommate, you had overheard others call her Gina, came scurrying into your shared accommodation right before a blare of some kind of alarm came on. 

“There’s a sweep,” she said whilst tidying up her desk area. “Get rid of your shit and stand outside the bunk.” 

You glanced around, seeing others acting the same as Gina. 

“I-I don’t have anything,” you stuttered, words unclogging your throat, figuring she was speaking of contraband. 

You stood from the cot on shaky legs, your body a bit worn from your panic attack.

“Good,” she said, grabbing your arm in passing, and pulled you outside the cube. “Stand there and be quiet.” 

She placed you on your side before standing on hers. You were unsure of what to do, when two guards came in through the door. CO Rogers and a new guard you hadn’t seen before, with a mustache. You recalled Nichols mentioning someone by the nickname ‘Pornstache’. Fit him just fine. 

Officer Rogers spotted you, making direct eye contact with you, before smirking. You felt a shiver run down your spine. The sheer size of the man was intimidating enough. To then add the authority and his outright contempt towards you, made it hard to disguise the shiver as anything other than fear. It was made worse when realization hit that he was checking your side of the dorm, almost coming up to your cube. You willed the tears to not resurface.

Both officers had made a mess of the bunks as they searched them for contraband, the rattle and clinking of metal and plastic hitting the floor making you jump every time they threw something new on the floor, or shouting out ‘clear’ like a military command. You noticed the other inmates keeping their gaze forward in the wait for the guards to be done with their trashing, but you couldn’t fight the urges to keep your eyes downcast and submissive when officer Rogers slowly walked up to your cube. He stopped right beside you. You felt his gaze burrow into your body as he looked you up and down, 

“This is a mandatory bunk inspection. I need to thoroughly search your cubicle for contraband,” he said, before walking in to begin his search. 

Both you and Gina threw glances back at him. Checking her side, he pushed aside some books and papers, splashing a cup of water on the ground as it fell, and slightly messed up her bedding, coming up empty.

He moved on to your side. Right away, wiping your whole desk area clean from the few belongings scattered there, intentionally kicking some books over into the puddle of water gathered from the cup, giving you a dark smile as he did. You swallowed the dry lump edged in your throat at the sight of his smile. There was no doubt in your mind that your bunk would be the messiest at the end of this. He rummaged through the bedding before he grabbed your mattress and flipped it onto the floor, leaving it in the mess. He walked over to your locker and threw everything across the cube, pulled down your provided hoodie and towel hanging from the hooks on your side, making sure that you noticed him leaving Gina’s still hanging. He stepped on your things, your sheets, your blankets, your pillow, your mattress, as he once again came to a stop beside you. 

“Clear!” he bellowed, making you gasp and jump at the proximity. 

He gave a huffing smile before leaning in closer, taking note of you cowering away before catching yourself. 

“Better clean that shit up, or I’m gonna have to write you a shot, inmate.” 

You frantically nodded your head. 

“Ye-yes, sir.” 

You could have sworn that your mouth had never been dryer, the words coming out jagged and low. Steve scoffed, before both guards made their way out of the dorm. 

Gina gave you a worried glance when going back inside to clear up the mess made. You knew you were paler than before, and that said a lot. With shaky hands, you started to put everything back where it belonged, trying to brush off the footprints on the sheets before making the bed the way it had been made prior to the onslaught. You dried the books on your shirt, but the pages would undoubtedly be bent and curved when they dried. 

“That seemed overly aggressive,” Gina noted. 

She made quick work of cleaning everything on her side. Another level of realization hit you of how they could make your time here hell. And you knew it was the small things that drain you the most.

“Yeah,” you said. There was not much else to say. 

O.o.O.o.O

Your counselor Healy, a greying, overweight man who really couldn't read people, had assigned you to Electrical for work. You got paid 11 cents an hour, but it was better than nothing. Your commissary was low. All the money you had basically had been put into the account, and there was no adding to that without work. Right now, you’d rather stay busy and not focus on the horror show in your mind. It was hard, but doing something productive might help with keep the mind-ghosts at bay. At least for a little while. 

You were quicker to ask for directions this time, not wanting to roam the halls all by your lonesome when they emptied. Did they empty? There were over 200 inmates at Litchfield, surely the corridors were never vacant? Whatever the case may be, you did not want to find out today.

You opened the door to electrical, only to find Nichols to the right drilling a hole in the wall. 

“What are you doing?” you asked, closing the door behind you. 

Nicky turned around. 

“It’s a… an art piece representing the futility of blue-collar labor in a technical age.” She looked and the broken wall. “And vaginas,” she added. 

You huffed a smile, wondering if she was this whimsical due to the amount of drugs she had done, or if this was just her personality. Either way, it was amusing. 

“Go gather before he yells in your face,” she said, and nodded her head towards the CO sighing by the desk at the end of the workshop. “He’s got breath like dead things.” 

You did as she recommended, and walked up to the officer in charge. 

“Hi, I-I’m Je—Harper,” you corrected. “I was assigned here.” He scoffed. 

“No shit.” 

He stood up, looking bored beyond words. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and recited the speech he was forced to endure. 

“I’m officer Luscheck. Welcome to the electric shop. Tools are kept here.” He pointed into the cage containing the tools. “If you want a tool…” he picked up a keyring of little badges. “Turn in a chit. Chits have numbers. The numbers are assigned to you. If the tool goes missing… we know who has them, and your ass… is grass.” 

You nodded along, showing you understood what he meant. Luscheck scratched his head and scrunched up his face. 

“Hey!” he yelled. “Rabbit Pearl!” You turned around at the lack of whirring from the drill in Nicky’s hands. “Ease back, all right? We’re all gonna go numb.” 

Nicky threw her hands up in disbelief, ignoring him all together. You turned back to officer Luscheck, trying to stifle a smile. 

“Anyway,” he said. “Simple as that.” He grabbed a book sitting on his desk and placed it on the workbench before you. “Read this. Then…” he grabbed a lamp and placed it on top of the book. “Fix this. The light turns on, you can call it a day. That goes for all of you!” he said to the entire room. “Read. Fix the lamp… go away. That’s your day, that’s your…. job.” 

Once again, you nodded, and sat down to begin reading to try and fix this lamp. 

You were relieved to find that this officer didn’t seem to know who you were, or why you were in here in the first place. Or maybe he just didn’t care. You hoped that was the case. He seemed like a slacker, someone who cared little for others’ business. Perhaps he didn’t even know about Nate’s death, or what had caused it. But you doubted it. It was most likely just a matter of time before he too would get in on the torturous ways shown by some of the other guards. But in the meantime, you put your focus on trying to get the lamp to work, busying your mind before the train derailed into paralyzing fear again. 

The day went by quickly despite your hardest efforts. You still couldn’t get the lamp to work, but Luscheck couldn’t give a rat’s ass about that it seemed. You gave back the tools you had used, and started packing everything else up and cleaning your workbench, doing it as slowly as possible. And it seemed lady luck was on your side, because officer Luscheck started yelling at Janae Watson in the cage, about some missing tools. 

“Who the hell has it?!” he screamed in her face. 

Everyone stood frozen in their spots at the sound of the angry officer. Watson crossed her arms. 

“I don’t know—” 

“God!” Luscheck interrupted. He drew a hand over his face, looking out at everyone else standing frozen on the spot. “Fuck!” 

He hit the alarm button and it immediately started blaring. 

You didn’t know what that meant or what you were supposed to do, but everyone else lay face down on the ground. Like the sheep you were, you did the same, a nervous but hopeful sigh leaving your lips. Hopefully this would take some time.

Within a few minutes, Mr. Caputo came in to the workshop, along with officers Donaldson, Mendez, who went by Pornstache by the inmates, and Barnes, who zeroed in on your figure lying face down on the floor, eyes twinkling at the sight. You looked away quickly, feeling not only his eyes on you, but the other officers’ as well. Shit! You’d rather had called it a day and tried to get back to your bunk, incident free. Lady luck was being a bitch. 

Officer Barnes followed Mr. Caputo to the front desk, slowing down as he went to walk around your front. The heel of his boot came down on the skin right above your elbow, and you squeaked a gasp, and pulled the arm in under yourself to protect it from further assault. Bucky smiled at the sound you made. 

“You can stand up,” Mr. Caputo said, not having seen what had just happened. 

All inmates did as he said. You rubbed your arm to ease the pain, keeping it close to your body to keep it safe and out of harm’s way. Officer Barnes was placed not far from your right, hands firmly together before him, blocking the way to the cage. He made sure not to blatantly stare at you, but you had to fight the urge to cower under his gaze whenever he did. Pornstache gave you amused looks every now and again from where he sat on a trolley behind Caputo, either smirking at you or looking you up and down without shame. 

“A screwdriver is considered a deadly weapon,” Mr. Caputo said. Luscheck was sat leaning against the desk behind him, looking somewhat worried. “That is another five years on your sentence if you are caught with it in your possession.” 

Watson, who thankfully had come to stand between you and officer Barnes, spoke up. Her voice trembled, though she persisted with her anger.

“I don’t like being threatened for something I didn’t do.” 

Pornstache immediately rose to his feet, taking an imposing step forward, grabbing a hold of his belt. You instantly shuffled back with unease, earning a smirk from officer Barnes. Watson simply raised her head in defiance at the act, watery eyes be damned. 

“No, I’m not threatening you,” Caputo continued. “I’m informing you of the facts.”

“Sounds like a threat to me. I already told you, I don’t have it.”

“I put her in charge of the tools, it’s her fault,” Luscheck blurted out. 

“Yo, don’t be tryin’ to pass the buck on me, it’s your fucking job!” Janae shouted at him, making you almost jump back another step. “I’m just a monkey in a cage, remember?”

“Be quiet!” Caputo yelled before sighing. “If you had done your job correctly, we would know who is responsible for this theft.” He spoke in a calm matter, turning to his guards. “I want all these women searched.” 

You threw a worried glance at officer Barnes who met your eyes with a raised, anticipating eyebrow. 

“I don’t know about these other bitches,” Janae interrupted before the guards could take another step forward. “But no man-guard is patting me down and coppin’ a feel.” 

“Of course,” Caputo said. “As is your right.” He turned to CO Donaldson, already close by after Janae’s outburst at Luscheck. “Donaldson, take her down to SHU and let her wait there until we can find a female officer to conduct a thorough… thorough search.” 

You took a step back as the officer went to grab a hold of Watson, finding her less than cooperative. 

“Don’t touch me, I can walk out myself!” Caputo raised a hand and gave an ironic wave at her struggling form in the guard’s grip. “Yo, motherfucker is a drunk!” She screamed and pointed at Luscheck again. “Yo, check his breath! Yo, motherfucker is a drunk!” 

Her shouting was short-lived as Donaldson dragged her out of the electrical shop, the door falling shut behind them. 

Caputo sighed. “Anyone else have a problem with a male officer?” he asked. 

You gulped. You had a big problem with it. But you feared the same treatment as Watson should you say anything, and that was even worse. Instead, you focused your attention on the table surface before you, wishing everything to be over. 

“If you cooperate,” Caputo continued. “Tells me you have nothing to hide.” 

No one said anything, but you felt the apprehension reeking from the other women in the room. It was a damned-if-I-do-damned-if-I-don’t scenario.

Mendez walked to the back of the room to begin his searches there. Barnes came up to search Nichols first, standing closest. She raised her arms to the side and simply let him check her. You felt your entire body tense up. You didn’t like men touching you after everything Nate had done to you. Every graze could set off your spiraling thoughts into a dark pit. But this was even worse. You had absolutely no say in it, and his touch wouldn’t be simple grazes. You swallowed hard, willing your stinging eyes not to shed the tears. 

Officer Barnes came up to you, just as Caputo turned around to talk to Luscheck. You tried to take a calming breath as you raised your arms, but it wasn’t quick enough for the officer’s taste. He shoved your arms up, before kicking at your boots to get you to spread your legs a bit wider. A whimper escaped your mouth before you could stop it. Bucky noticed. You felt the breath of his smile tousle your hair. 

His hands went from your shoulders to your hands, pressing down harder than he needed to. With firm and unforgiving fingers, he then grabbed your breasts in both hands, squeezing hard. You whined and tried to get away but he pulled you back firmly against his chest, listening to your whimpers as he did. His head came down to your ear, smiling against the shell while he drew a deep breath of your scent. 

“Better stay still, honey,” he whispered, just before Caputo turned around and forced him to continue his search in the matter it should be handled. 

Though, the pressure was harder than necessary, and when he came to your bum, he squeezed your buttocks tightly. Bile rose in your throat. Sweat spotted your hairline. You felt yourself start to shiver from being tensed up, and the chill from the sweat did little to help. 

Once satisfied with his check, Bucky grabbed your still raised arms and forced them down to your side, hard. He pushed you forward to move on to the next inmate in line, caring little if you’d manage to catch yourself in time. You felt light-headed, like the room was spinning, or running out of oxygen. Just a few more minutes now, then this would all be over and you’d be back in your bunk until dinnertime. Just a few more minutes, then you’d be out in the fresh air. 

“If your memory jogs,” Caputo said, looking around at everyone. “You know where my office is. You’re more than welcome with any information on this matter.” 

As he finished speaking, the officers finished their searches. 

“They’re all clean,” Mendez said, backing away from the inmates. 

Barnes came up to your end of the room once more, crossing his arms over his widespread chest. The breath hitched in your throat, threatening to release a whimper just from the close proximity, but you caught it, and swallowed it before it could creep up any further. 

“That’ll be all,” Caputo said, and started to lead everyone out of the shop. 

Mendez went right after, waiting outside the door to make sure everyone left quietly. Officer Barnes waited inside, till he was the last man left. He was standing so close to the bench, and you still had to come even closer to get out. You swallowed hard, despite the dryness of your throat, and looked up at him with watery eyes, just for a second, before you dared move to make your exit. His arms were still crossed, his fists resting and pushing at his prominent biceps, making him appear even more buff. He looked down at you, a whole head taller than you. 

“Move it, Harper,” he said almost daringly. 

Your feet only shuffled along the floor, no matter how much you wanted to just sprint out of there. The room was emptying quick, and before you knew it, there were only the two of you left. He smiled as he watched your form shudder. The thoughts that must run through your head, he thought. You’re terrified and he’s barely done anything yet. 

He closed the gap between you and leaned his head down towards you. You tilted your face away, cowering back. 

“Perhaps you wanted a little alone time, huh?” he mocked. “Get me all to yourself? So, you could stab me too, is that it?” 

You frantically shook your head, but he grabbed a hold of your chin, fingers pinching the skin. You couldn’t stop the sob escaping your mouth. He chuckled at your response. 

“Fucking murdering cunt.” 

He pushed his hand up, forcing you to get up on your toes to follow. 

“P-please, I—” 

“We know what you did,” he said. A tear ran down your cheek. “We all know what you did to Millers. And if you think your time here is gonna be anything other than pure fucking hell…” He huffed. “Well, you’re in for a _hell_ of a surprise.” 

He released you with a shove. You caught yourself on the bench just in time, crying out as your own still healing side hit the edge. Your entire body trembled as you looked up at the man smiling above you. Tears ran freely down your face as you backed up with every step he took towards you. 

“Pl-please, I-I didn’t—” 

The door opened with a squeak, and Mendez peeked his head in. 

“Everything alright, Barnes?” he asked. Barnes gave him a reassuring smile. 

“Yeah, we’re all good,” he said. “Just making sure this one wasn’t gonna try anything. Given her history.” 

You looked down at the dirty floorboards, drying away tears. Mendez scoffed. 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t trust her to wipe my ass.” 

Both men chuckled, not giving a care in the world about your state. 

“Well, come on then, sweet cheeks,” Mendez said. “Ain’t got all day. Come on out to daddy.” 

Your head shot up at the nickname, holding Mendez gaze, dissociated, despite wanting nothing more than to look away. But vivid, horrible imagery played inside your head, keeping you frozen. 

FLASHBACK

“Won’t you come to daddy?” He was coming closer, forcing you further and further into the corner in a feeble attempt at trying to get away. “I’ll make you feel so good, sweetheart.” 

You shook your head over and over and over, fear shaking your naked body. 

“You don’t wanna make daddy mad, do you? Make me have to punish you?” 

END OF FLASHBACK

“I think she likes that nickname, Mendez.” 

Barnes’ mocking voice brought you back. No reaction in your body changed. The fear was prominent, your body still shaking. 

“Perhaps she wants daddy to teach her a lesson?” 

Bucky grabbed a hold of your arm and pushed you towards the exit, towards Mendez. You let out a gargling ‘no’, spit and tears clogging your throat. But the men just laughed at you. Barnes gave you another shove out the door, Mendez moving away to let you all but fall out. Once outside in the open, both men backed off with the teasing. But you didn’t dare run away or do something they would find disrespectful. Years of _teaching_ had taught you that lesson. They are what’s important. They are the ones who can hurt you. Don’t give them any reason to. Your feelings, your distress is not important to them. Let them have fun, let them tease you, and scare you and maybe they’ll leave it at that. 

Mendez shut the door behind Barnes before speaking. 

“Come on, now, Harper. Get your ass back inside before I write you a shot.” 

He walked up beside you, turning you around by your arm so you were facing the right way and not looking at them, and started walking. You heard Barnes slowly approaching, daring a quick glance back at him. He was smirking at you, running a hand through his semi-long hair to put it back in place. 

Mendez released your arm, only to smack your ass harshly, making you gasp at the impact. It stung. Barnes chuckled at your reaction. 

“See you at dinner, Harper,” he said, walking towards the yard instead of the closest door, Mendez doing the same. 

You seized the opportunity given to you and beelined for the door, making sure not to run, knowing that would earn you a shot. You could still hear the men talking and laughing behind your back, feeling their eyes on you as they did. It only made you move faster.

The hallway was empty when you rushed through the door. You held on to the doorknob, tight enough to turn your knuckles white. Your hand came up to cover your mouth, to muffle the hysteric cries you just couldn’t hold back anymore. Mind-numbing fear gripped you, shook your entire body. 

“This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening,” you repeated through sobs, over and over again until you couldn’t draw new breath and collapsed on the floor. Muscles burned and ached as they tensed up, seemingly cold tears streamed down your face, but still no sound would escape your open mouth. You just lie there. Crying. Trying to catch your breath and calm your mind and have your body follow. But everything Nate had ever done to you played back in your head, only this time… it wasn’t just him doing it. It was the guards, Barnes and Rogers, joining in on the horrific things being done to you. It blocked out anything sane, any attempt at calm. White rimmed your eyes. Fading to grey. Then it all went black.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I am so stoked to see the number of hits go up! This feeling is amazing! :) thank you all so much for reading!
> 
> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Mentions of rape and death. You have been warned.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Rogers fucking with that Harper girl?” Mendez asked Bucky and taking a sip of his coffee, trying to stay warm in the chilly breezes of autumn. 

A wide grin spread across Barnes’ face at the thought. 

“She’s just getting what she deserves, is all.” 

“Yeah? You think—you think there’s any truth to the whole Millers thing?” 

“Of course!” Bucky said. “If you ask me, I think she planned it. I mean, Nate wasn’t the biggest guy, but he was a hell of a lot bigger than her.” 

Mendez cocked an eyebrow. 

“Good point,” he said. 

Bucky leaned his head in closer, speaking a bit more silently. 

“Me and Steve, we’ve been thinking of things to do to her for a while,” he said with a simpering smile. “You know, avenging Nate a bit. Bitch is living in a goddamned nightmare.” 

Both men chuckled at the comment. 

“Well, be sure to leave me a piece, man” Mendez said. 

Bucky raised his eyebrows. 

“Don’t you have enough with Reznikov as it is? And you know, your little side business?” 

Mendez scoffed. 

“Fuck Red! That old Ruskie think she’s running the place. Besides, the new girl could be fun.” 

Mendez gave Bucky a telling smile. The smile he received was less joyous. 

“Yeah,” he said. “But the thing is, we kinda called dibs. So, I think you’ll have to settle with getting blowjobs from the meth-heads and cashing in that way. ‘Cause she’s already taken, buddy.” 

Mendez knew better than to push Barnes’ too far, knowing he didn’t take kindly to people trying to push him. Bucky had his territory, Mendez had his. Besides, Barnes could beat him to a pulp without breaking a sweat should he try anything. And if Rogers joined in on the action? He would surely be bathing in a pool of his own blood.

Mendez gave a nervous scoff. 

“Of course, buddy. She’s all yours. Just let me know if I can get a piece of that cake.” 

Bucky chuckled. 

“Will do!”

“My balls are freezing off,” Mendez said. “Ain’t it dinner time yet?” 

Bucky checked his watch hidden underneath his coat sleeve. 

“Just about.” 

They started walking towards the main entrance of the prison, checking the grounds before heading inside. 

O.o.O.o.O

“Ey, yo! You okay?” 

Spotted floor came into view, edges molding with the day-old cream-colored walls. Your head hurt like hell, both from the inside and out. You felt a hand shake your hip. 

“Yo! You awake?” 

Lifting your head, you came face to face with a worried face. Her skin was like chocolate caramel, her hair poufy and wild. 

“Yeez, what you doin’?” Her voice was kind, as well as annoyed. 

You sat up, hand coming up to cradle your head. You felt a bump on your right side, probably from the impact. 

“I… I must have fainted,” you mumbled. 

You didn’t remember much, but a burning sensation in your chest gave hints of another panic attack.

“Yeah, no kiddin’!” The girl reached out a hand. “Need some help?” she asked kindly. 

You appreciatively took her hand in yours, letting her all but pull you to your feet. You balanced yourself against the dividing wall, letting the spinning calm down a bit before attempting to walk anywhere. 

“You new?” she asked. 

You nodded, regretting it instantly as the pain bloomed up again. 

“Ye-yeah. Jess Harper,” you said. 

“Taystee,” she said, looking you over. “You sure you okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I think so. Thank you.” 

“Mmm-hmm,” was all she let out. “Just don’t go passin’ out on me again. Man, can’t even walk the halls without some white girl calling for attention.” 

You just smiled at the comment, assuming she meant it jokingly more than anything else. 

“Sorry,” you said. “I’m fine now, really. Thank you.” 

It was almost true. The pain from the nodding had subsided but the pressure of a headache still lingered. 

“If you say so.” 

She walked off, glancing back at you to make sure, before disappearing behind a corner. 

Once in the clear, tears stung strongly in your eyes. They never seemed to go away. How could they? This fear was worse than the one you’d been forced to live with through all those years. This fear didn’t ease whenever Nate left the house. This fear didn’t ease when other people where around. And you could never leave. Never lock a door. Never excuse your absence during the day or night. 

They had you cornered. In plain sight. In broad daylight and eerie nighttime. You were trapped. With no escape. No hope. It was done. You were done. There was no more crossroads or ways to turn or directions to go. This was it. 

A smidge of optimism had you wondering if they would listen to reason should you get the chance. If they would listen to you, hear your side, your truth. What really happened that night, and had happened so many times before. They had to know about that side of Nate. There must have been signs or tells or loud warning bells at some point. Right? 

You decided to skip dinner and go back to your bunk, hoping to rest the tension out of your body. There was no way your stomach could or would accept any food at this point. It had already threatened to expel what was left of the small lunch you’d had. Even though you knew everyone was going to be in the cafeteria, it still surprised you how quiet the dorm was, part from the low light-hearted music coming from the speakers. 

You lifted your shirt slightly, exposing the still healing scar and underlaying tissue from where the knife had pierced you. A hiss escaped your lips when your fingers grazed the bruising skin caused by Barnes shoving you into the bench. Your fingers traced the old, already healed scars littering your body. Some from knife cuts, some made by Nate’s hands, some burnt into your pale skin. He had called your body his canvas. A work in progress. A blank page to write his story on. But each scar, each cut, ease bruise had their own story too. Stories you wanted nothing more than to erase. 

A creak echoed through the room. The door was opened, before slowly creaking shut again. You pulled the coarse fabric down again, letting it protect what lay underneath, and rested your head on your pillow again. It was probably one of the inmates coming back from dinner. But the strain seizing your chest foreboded something worse. You didn’t even need to make sure to know your fear was justified, years of learning to trust your instincts as experience. You quickly sat up, lowering one foot to the ground whilst keeping the other knee up, ready to push of the bed should you need to. Your fingers gripped the itchy blanked tightly, watching the top of the wall. Dark tresses came into your vision, then beaming blue eyes caught yours. CO Barnes appeared in the doorway to your cube, leaning a broad shoulder on the bricks with his arms crossed menacingly over his chest. He smiled. 

“You didn’t come to dinner.” You swallowed dryly, eyes blinking rapidly. His smile widened. “We missed you.”

“I-I-I wasn’t h-hungry, s-sir” you stuttered, keeping your tone low as to not upset him. Instead he chuckled.

“Yeah, I get it.” He took a step into your cube, focusing on the contents scattered across the top of your locker. “Prison food can’t be all that great.” 

He picked up the radio that was given to you upon arrival, feigning an examination. You made a bold move of trying to shuffle further away on your bed, but froze in place once his eyes shot to you. A shudder ran through your body, a shaky breath following it. 

“But you see,” he said, putting the radio down and coming up to stand before you. “It’s our job to take care of you, sweetheart. And that means, making sure you get something in that belly of yours.” 

You gulped and tried to back away from him, but the wall stopped you from going any further. 

Bucky reached into his pocket and pulled out an unprotected, half eaten, stale protein bar. It had lint and dirt covering most of it. 

“Since you chose not to come to the cafeteria, I’m gonna be nice enough to give you my protein bar.” He leaned down, eyes staring into the watery abyss of yours and offered it to you. “I found it earlier this week at the bottom of my gym bag.” He huffed a smile. “I wonder how long it’s been there? A week? Huh? A month maybe?” He twisted it and turned it in his fingers, looking it over as he spoke. Before his eyes landed back on you, almost making you jump. “Eat it.” 

His voice left no room for argument. Your eyes darted between him and the bar in his hands, contemplating on your choices. You tried to reason with him. 

“I-I’m sorry I d-didn’t come to the cafeteria, I know it was wrong, sir, and I’m so, so sorr—” 

Bucky sighed loudly, cutting you off. You clamped your mouth shut, knowing you made the wrong choice in arguing. 

“You just can’t do what you’re told, can you?” You looked down, cowering from his gaze, not caring if tears fell down your cheeks for him to see. “Look at me.” You did as he said, shivering from the command to do so. “You’re gonna eat the bar, the whole goddammed thing… and you’re gonna be fucking grateful for it. You understand me, inmate?” 

You nodded your head carefully, eyeing the bar as he held it out for you to take. He smiled while watching your fingers strain to keep from touching his. You held the dry piece of chocolate imitation between your fingers, looking it over and finding even more dirt on it than you noticed before. You frowned. 

“Come on, now,” Bucky mocked. “You must be absolutely starving.” 

He chuckled as he stood upright, once again crossing his arms over his broad chest. He patiently waited for you to take a bite. He tutted at you when careful fingers came up to pick off pieces of lint from the bar. You realized he wasn’t going to let you clean it off in any way before consuming it. You looked at him with pleading eyes for him to not make you go through with it. 

“Plea—” 

“Now, inmate!” he interrupted. 

You nodded your understanding. 

With eyes closed for just a brief second, and a calming breath, you took a bite. It was tough to bite through, fighting your teeth the entire way. It was hard, crunchy from gravel and fussy from lint. You tried not to think about where it had been, but just kept on chewing and forcing it down. Thankfully, there wasn’t much of it. You were done after only a few fighting bites. You swallowed the last straying piece of it, feeling bile rise in your throat. You had never liked the taste of protein bars, the chocolate taste be damned. It always tasted old no matter how fresh it was. But this combo was by far the worse you had ever tried. 

You remembered his words; and you’re gonna be fucking grateful for it. So, you lifted your head, watery eyes meeting his pleased ones, and spoke through the tightness in your throat. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

He smiled, obviously satisfied with you being able to do as you had been told. 

“There’s plenty more where that came from, sweetheart. Now,” he started backing away from your bunk slightly. “Have you learned your lesson on doing as you are told? Huh?” 

You nodded your head quickly. 

“You better answer when I ask you a question, inmate!” 

You gasped at his raised voice. 

“Ye-yes, sir, I’m sorry, sir” you stuttered. 

He grinned at your cowering form. 

“Good. That’s good,” he said, sounding sincere. “Then I expect to see you in the cafeteria at every meal, unless told otherwise. You understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” you uttered without hesitation. 

His grin widened. He started walking out of the cube, glancing back at you where you sat frozen on the cot. 

“We’re gonna have a lot of fun with you, doll.” Bucky chuckled as he walked away. “Welcome to Litchfield, Harper. Enjoy your stay. I know we will.” 

Sobs shook your body. Loud crying, hiccupping breaths. You grabbed your legs, forcing them closer and closer to your body, trying to find comfort in any way. Terror. Mind-numbing terror was all you could feel. How was any of this even happening? How could you possibly be in a worse position now, than when Nate was alive to molest you, hurt you, rape you, burn you, scar you, mark you? 

You hadn’t meant to kill him! It was a moment of horrific bravery. You just wanted him to stop. You just wanted him to stop. But all you had done was change the scenery, not the situation. If anything; the situation was made worse. Ten. Times. Worse.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Suicidal thoughts and mentions of death. Also panic attack. You have been warned.
> 
> Also, Steve releaves some tension. If you don't like it, dont read.

You woke up to the sound of an alarm sounding twice. Sometime during your meltdown (or maybe it was another panic attack?) you had fallen asleep, your body desperately craving the rest. You looked around you, the place was buzzing with inmates. What time was it anyway? Everyone stood outside their cubes, so you did the same. Was it count-time? It happened a few times a day you figured, keeping close attention to learn the ropes.

Gina came scurrying from one of the other cubes to stand on her side, as you took your place by yours. 

“What time is it?” you asked. 

But before she could answer, COs O’Neill and Maxwell walked in, starting on each side and finishing on the opposite, comparing numbers, before walking out again with a ‘thank you, ladies’. You felt your entire body relax upon the sight of the CO’s, grateful to whichever god had blessed you with the absence of Barnes and Rogers.

“It’s nine thirty,” Gina said. “They count at 8 in the cafeteria, 1 after lunch at the dorms, usually followed by a search, sometimes 5,30 depending on the day and which guards, also at the dorms, and then at 9,30 before lights out. Or, lights lowered as it was.” 

You nodded, logging the information to make sure as to not mess up on accident. You knew the guards would go looking for any reason to bust you or in any way make your life worse, so you had to muster the energy once again to walk on eggshells, counting time, watching both tone and words, and slip back into the discomfort of merely existing. It hurt to even think it again. That once again life came down on you hard with the message ‘you don’t matter’, and that you would have to all but disappear to even go on living. 

Should you though? The temptation of death dangled before your eyes again. It had come a long time ago, and never really gone away. Which made that night even more of a chocker to you. You didn’t know what had possessed you to grab the knife and jam it into Nate’s chest when you could have just ended your suffering right there. Or simply waited for him to get back up and ending it for you. If only you could go back. You’d wait. You’d wait for him to get back up, grab the knife and plunge it into your abdomen again and again and again, until you were the one bleeding out on the floor, not him. Then it would have been over. None of this would have happened. You would have been free. 

You did your best to get ready for the night. Through the spiraling thoughts and tightness in your chest, it turned out to be easier than you thought. When your mind is already preoccupied with trying to stay alive and somewhat sane, brushing your teeth and peeing was smooth sailing. 

Your cube-mate was hustling with papers and whatnot on her desk, not even glancing back at you when you came back from the bathroom. She was a mystery, that one. Wrapped in an enigma. And a riddle somewhere in there. You cleared your throat in an attempt to get some attention, but she just exhaled with irritation. 

“You seem busy.” Really? That’s the best you can do? Well, might as well stick with it. “Something the matter?” 

“Yeah, there’s some papers missing,” she said. 

“Oh.” This conversation was going swimmingly. “I thought you were in the kitchen.” 

“I am, but I help Red with the paperwork too. I’m kind of her side-kick. You know, along with some other people.”

“Red? She’s the Russian lady with the…red hair?” You waved your hand around your head. 

“Sharp eye.” The sarcasm was obvious. “She runs the kitchen.” 

You nodded, trying to think of anything to say, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Gina spotted you. 

“You can just go to sleep, you know?” she said. “We don’t have to talk.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said. “I didn’t mean to be a bother.” 

You put your stuff away in your locker, keeping it neat. You hadn’t been given any sweats beside your hoodie yet, having been told to go to the laundry tomorrow to get some, so that left you sleeping in only the oversized cotton Mumu that you had received. You hated not having any bottoms on, but if it was just for one night, surely exhaustion would overtake you despite that slip. The bed wasn’t all that bad, but the blanket scratched and itched along your bare legs as you lay down. The bed screeched along the floor as you moved to get comfortable, hoping the sound didn’t bother Gina too much. 

“You weren’t bothering me,” she said. “Just…FYI.” You blinked, not really knowing what to say. 

“Oh…okay.” 

She didn’t respond, but just her saying that you weren’t a bother calmed you. She seemingly gave up on whatever she was looking for, grabbed her toiletries and left. You smiled, all by your lonesome. 

Gina was a welcomed distraction. Just sharing a few words with her had gotten your mind to calm significantly. Your mind circled through the people you had met during the day, showing them all like character cards. Nicky Nichols, Lorna Morello, Yoga Jones, Sister, Gina, Watson, Luscheck, Pornstache…Barnes and Rogers. Your smile faded as the already all too familiar faces crowded your mind. A dry lump edged itself into your throat, adding to the growing tension in your chest, causing your breaths to come out in strained puffs of air. You clutched the blanked harder in your hands. 

What were they going to do to you? With you? Would it continue with the things already done? It did enough to imprison you inside dread and worry, after all. First day. It was only your first day in prison and you had already been force-fed disgusting food, groped, felt up, pushed, shoved, threatened and had your cube be trashed to look like a junkyard. Their mere presence had you trembling. It wasn’t far off from what Nate did in the beginning. Just the thought of what came to follow sent shivers through your body. Just how far would they go? 

You weren’t naïve enough to even begin to think one of the inmates would intervein should they even get the chance. Everyone looked out for themselves, and wanted no trouble with any of the CO’s. That was the scariest thing. 

Out in the world, people would help if they saw a situation going awry. You could call out for help, and help would come. In here? In here everyone turned a blind eye, hoping to go unnoticed by officers in a grumpy mood, or risk having the attention be brought to them, undoubtedly ending with them getting the shorter end of the stick. Inmates had no power, despite what the world believed. 

‘But you have rights’. There are no ‘rights’ when one group of people hold the power to take yours away completely at the blink of an eye and have it be justified. 

No, you had no false convictions, of help or otherwise. You were alone, utterly alone. Apart from correctional officers Barnes and Rogers. Pornstache wasn’t a favorite either, but he didn’t seem to be out to get you in the same manner. Though, you would make sure to keep your distance. 

Sleep found you despite doubt of it ever doing so. Your body must have been so exhausted from constant hyperawareness. You must have relaxed more than you thought after Nate died, if only one day had you this spent. Surely you would catch up sooner rather than later, experience leaving not scars but open wounds in that department, and you didn’t need any more of those. 

You were pulled from your restful slumber by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. They stood out, a new addition to the sounds already prominent in the room. You slowly, tiredly opened your eyes. The dorm was still somewhat lit, the lights never fully turned off. It made it easy for your eyes to adjust, the light almost a comfortable intensity for your sleepy state. You stayed tucked in under your blanket as you waited, the strides coming heavier and louder as they neared. Your muscles flexed underneath your skin, as you watched the top of the dividing wall once more. This time, a tall, blond head appeared with a wicked smirk on his lips. Officer Rogers. 

A gasp fled your mouth before you could catch it, hastily throwing a hopeful glance at Gina, but was met by nothing other than a sleeping form with its back to you. 

Steve came to a stop in the middle of the doorway, his hands resting on his belt. The light hit his face just wrong (or right maybe?), creating menacing shadows along his sharp-lined face. You subconsciously drew your thighs closer together, your nakedness all too aware, these types of nightly visits being all too familiar. He wouldn’t assault you in a room full of witnesses, would he? He wouldn’t rape you with almost twenty other women around? Right? 

“Thought we just leave inmates alone during the night without supervision, did you?” he spoke lowly, before scoffing. “You looked so peaceful the last time I came in here.” He said it almost endearingly. 

What? This wasn’t the first time he was in here? Why hadn’t you woken up? You scolded yourself for letting sleep get the better of you. You had to be more careful. 

Officer Rogers was carried closer by daunting steps, leering down at you from his substantial height. You cowered back, moving almost to a sitting position to keep your body safe. Safe from intrusion, or otherwise. Apart from the few gasps sneaking out, you knew better than to make any noise. No, it’s better to keep quiet, you know this. 

Steve leaned in closer, making you whimper from the movement. 

“Big brother’s always watching.” 

You felt a tear burn your eye before quickly running down your cheek. The fact that officer Rogers had been watching you sleep terrified you. Not even in sweet oblivion were you safe from their scrutiny.

“I’d say ‘you can run but you can’t hide’, but you can’t even do that, now, can you?” He followed the salty droplet with his gaze, a stiff finger coming up to follow its track. You whimpered at the contact, drawing a wide grin from the officer. “’Cause we’ll be here,” he went on softly. “Watching you. Watching over you. Like the good, caring officers we are. Like your brother was. Before you cut him open.” 

You went to open your mouth, but before you could defend your actions, the officer had grabbed a hold of your jaw, rendering it shut. You whimpered again, internally scolding yourself for breaking so easily. Steve’s smile was overcast by a grim shadow as his face turned stern, gripping your chin in a vice like grip. 

“We don’t take too kindly to scums murdering our fellow officer, least of all me and officer Barnes. You see, Nate was a friend. We enjoyed his company. We shared certain… interests.” 

Steve smirked at your obvious flinch, loved seeing your mind working away and digging yourself a deeper hole by his words. You wondered just how much they knew about what had taken place during all those years. 

“And if you think that we’ll stand silently by while you do your time in minimum security after slaughtering Millers… well, you’ve got another thing coming for you, sweetheart.” 

He released your chin to harshly pat your cheek, slapping the skin. You winced and cowered back when given the chance, letting tears streak your face without shame. You were afraid, terrified, and he knew it. 

Steve eased back, towering over you with hint of teeth showing through his smile as he took in the wreck only words and minor physical contact had caused. You were so easy to toy with. Almost too easy. Neither him nor Bucky had anticipated how flinchy, retracted and not to mention polite and respectful you had been from the get-go. You found you place all too easy. They wanted to chase you into that corner, but it seemed like you were already huddled there. Just your response to the word ‘interests’ gave him a satisfying rush, relishing in your fear of him. 

He felt his cock harden at the thought. He never expected domination to feel like this when he had imagined doing it so many times. The fantasies had started to become reality, and he liked how it made him feel. The little guilty voice in the far back of his mind, telling him that your reactions were all too genuine and instinctive, were swallowed by the growing desire for release. 

He turned on his heel, throwing a quick glance at the inmate sharing your cube to find her still sleeping soundly, before rounding the wall. Steve turned back to look at you with an expression you would find almost endearing if his face wasn’t set as stern or eyes didn’t scan your body the way they did. 

“Nighty, night, Jessie,” Steve whispered low under his breath as he left the dorm and made his way towards the employee’s bathroom. 

He made sure to lock the door behind him, and quickly unclipped his utility belt to set it on the sink and leaning against it. He groped himself through the tightening trousers, before finally freeing his now fully hard cock from its confinement, the tip already leaking pre cum. He stroked himself slow and steady to the image of your teary doe eyes. The way your body just trembled underneath his fingers. God, he couldn’t wait to really get his hands on you, run them over your warm skin and mark it up in blue and purple. 

He imagined how warm your pussy would feel as he stretched your hole, forcing his way inside only to hear you whimper at the intrusion. How your body would rock forward with each hard thrust, every wince and cry making him drive in harder. It didn’t take long before he felt the familiar coil of an upcoming orgasm twitching low in his abdomen. A few fast, hard pumps of his cock and he was cumming over the tissue ready in hand, grunting and groaning as he saw the image in his head of you crying, begging, pleading for him to ‘please, don’t to this’. Steve rubbed himself slowly as he came down from his high, lost in fantasies, mind traveling to your likely shivering form where he had left you. Nightshifts just took a turn for the better. 

The echo of his footsteps had quieted, and the dorm was now instead overcast by silence after the officer’s departure. You held your breath for a few moments, listening intently for any sign of another inmate being awakened by officer Roger’s presence, but none came. No one had heard him or seen him. No one knew of his threats. 

The rapid breaths leaving your chest tight came out in jagged bursts. A full body tremble traveled through you, shaking the tears still left in your eyes enough to release them. Your throat was burning with tears, the lump wedged there stuck like gum to a shoe. 

With trembling hands, you lifted the blanket from your body, the chilling air hitting your bare legs and leaving goosebumps in its wake. Your feet met the cold, hard floor, before you collapsed onto your knees, barely catching yourself with your forearms. You drew your knees under yourself, stretched your arms before your head and forced yourself to draw breath. It fought you the entire way, compressing your chest even more in your new position, but the focus of breathing, and breathing only, helped to calm your body down. The shaking subsided, the tears dried on your cheeks, and your breathing was evened out on the fourth try. Now you could begin to process. 

Shared interests. What did that mean? Was there a violent streak in these men as well? You wouldn’t put it passed them. Did they enjoy sadism like Nate had? They did seem to take some pleasure in your cowering ways, earning cruel smiles every time. How much had Nate told them? Did they know everything he had done, or nothing of it? People had not believed you when you had first tried telling someone about what he had done, and that had just been a slap or a punch. Their answer was always ‘but he’s such a great guy’, ‘Nate’s not like that, you’re just jealous of him’, ‘no one else seem to have a problem with him’. 

The idea of him bragging about his masterpiece and other ill doings seemed unprobeable. Though, he had shared several moments with his close friends when you were younger. Even letting them join in on the party. But to spill any beans to his colleagues? Unlikely. The officer had said he was a friend, but the rest didn’t seem to show of any closer bond than the job and a few drinks or revelry nights.

No, these men didn’t know. At least, not the whole story. Bits and pieces, thoughts and fantasies maybe, but not the truth. It calmed you to realize that. It meant you had a chance of persuading them of your innocence or self-defense, and justify your actions by Nate’s wrongdoings. Perhaps they would see reason and stop this torture if they knew what you’d already had to survive. You just had to find a time and a way to try.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter! I hope you like it :) Please leave a comment to let me know what you think about it and what might happen as things progress...

You stayed awake for the rest of the night, not daring to close your eyes and risk the fatigue taking over, rendering you helpless should the officer try to touch you in any way in your sleep. He didn’t come back for the rest of the night. He left you alone with your wondering thoughts. Did he know that you wouldn’t fall back to sleep after his visit? Did he know what state you were getting yourself into just wondering? 

Sunlight started to peek through the small, dirty windows of the dorm, announcing the arrival of morning. Some of the women started to stir, tired sighs and loud yawns were heard throughout. Soon, the radio rustled to life and played a low tune between the static. The whistling of a microphone sounded, then officer Bell made her morning announcement. 

You looked to Gina who turned over before getting up without fuss, grabbing her toiletries and headed out without as much as a glance at you. You didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. She was a good and needed distraction. 

You reluctantly got out of bed. The need for sleep hadn’t been lessened by not sleeping. Your body felt heavy and detached as you slowly stood up, your bare feet on the cold floor causing a shiver to run through your body. 

You put on your khakis quickly, pulling your shirt over the one you slept in before removing it, trying to hide your body as much as you could from peoples’ eyes. You knew you had to shower, but you were going to wait for the least busy time to do so, and do it quickly. You took the things you needed, toilet paper too, seeing you had to bring it, and started walking. Your body tensed as you walked past the CO bubble, hoping not to see either officer Rogers or Barnes. Your shoulder visibly sagged back down when your gaze fell on officer O’Neill.

You had no idea how the guards’ shifts worked at Litchfield. You knew officer Rogers had worked from at least lunch until some hours past midnight, but had Barnes had the same shift? You supposed he would have paid you a visit also if that was the case. So that meant that officer Rogers most likely wouldn’t be here until the afternoon at the earliest, but that Barnes very well could be. Nightshifts usually meant long hours in most occupations, but they usually also meant a lot of downtime. 

You were torn between wanting to feel relief that officer Rogers probably didn’t work that many days of the week, at least not when working the nightshifts, and the hopelessness that would mean for your sleeping schedule. There was no way you would be able to sleep under his watch. You would have to try to find out the schedule, if it was a set schedule. There was the risk that it wasn’t set, and even if it was, the guards might change shifts with each other willy nilly. 

Even lost in thought, your feet lead you to the B-dorm bathroom. You did your business right in the open without any doors to hide behind, and brushed your teeth, taking note of the very long shower line going out the door. Mornings were not an option. The less people the better. 

You returned your things to your cube, hanging the towel to dry after a quick washup in the sink, and headed to the check-in to see where to get your sweats. Officer Maxwell, a black woman with a resting bitchface sat at the desk, reading something on the table before her. You suspected it wasn’t work-related. When you stepped forward you noticed that officer Barnes was standing by a table behind Maxwell, sorting through various objects, white latex gloves protecting his hands. You kept the gasp that wanted to escape contained when you met his gaze, the corner of his mouth turning upward in a lop-sided smirk. You cleared your throat, earning Maxwell’s attention. 

“H-hi, I, uhm…” you began, but she interrupted you before you could get it out.

“Spit it out, Harper.” 

Her voice was sharp, like your presence annoyed her more than a buzzing mosquito. You froze, hands coming up towards your chest in an attempt to self-sooth. 

“I-I didn’t receive any leisurewear, sweats, yesterday. I was told to get some today.” 

“Who told you?”

“Officer Bell,” you answered her politely, keeping your expression soft, though your eyes jumped back towards the officer behind her more often than not, noting his still apparent grin. 

Maxwell sighed, pausing for just a second, but it was enough for officer Barnes to sneak a word in. 

“You look tired, inmate. Didn’t sleep well?” 

His voice was laced with enjoyment. Of course, he knew of officer Rogers’ conversation during the night. You swallowed. 

“I-I guess I’m not used to it all yet, sir.” 

You kept your voice low enough so he wouldn’t find any sass in your words. He gave you a wicked grin. 

“I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it soon, Harper.” 

You forced the corners of your mouth to turn upward in a polite smile, gaze bopping all over the place in order not to challenge him. You know the rules, Jess. Just follow the rules. 

Officer Maxwell gave you another bored look. “Laundry is down corridor C and to the right,” she said. “Ask for what you need there.” 

You nodded hastily. 

“Thank you.” 

You hurried off, not hearing the officers’ conversation. 

“Polite little thing, isn’t she?” Maxwell asked, earning a side-eye from Bucky. “Calling you _sir_ and all.” She scoffed. He did the same. 

“Yeah, well. Someone should have taught her not to kill too.” 

“Millers?” Bucky nodded at the question. “I don’t know,” Maxwell went on. “Seems too… skittish to be a murderer, don’t you think? She’s all goodie-goodie and a box of chocolates if you ask me. I don’t know, something doesn’t seem right in that mess.” 

Bucky dismissed it all, his view of you not changing in the slightest. Any part of him that did, was buried deep, deep behind the want for justice. 

O.o.O.o.O 

You got a hold of the clothes you were after, all in the matching light grey shade as the hoodie you already had. There was a thicker and a thinner normal sweater, a t-shirt and a pair of pants to match. You’d seen some of the other women use them as sleep clothes and you couldn’t wait to do the same. You wanted your body covered as much as possible at all times, and all of these items surely helped. 

You placed your new clothes in your locker and grabbed your hoodie, zipping it all the way up, and started towards the cafeteria to start your day. Breakfast went down easy seeing either officer Rogers nor Barnes had attended. You hadn’t felt leering eyes at you every single second of it, something you guessed you would have to get used to at the cafeteria during their shifts. You kept an eye out for officer Barnes once you were on your way towards the electrical shop, but he never showed. The significant relaxation in your body didn’t go unnoticed. 

Even though your fingers were nimbly trying to fix the lamp, your mind was trying to get a system going on how to track the officers’ routines. You needed to know their time schedule and preferably their postings during the day, but you had no idea how this system worked. Perhaps there was someone you could ask? 

Your eyes immediately landed on the sleepy guard sat at his desk before you, boredom more than apparent on his face. It could work. Perhaps he would just think that you were taking an interest in him or his work if you were to ask him. The shop was fairly empty today, a lot of the inmates out fixing things in the rest of the prison. It was just you and two more inmates currently working away. 

You cleared your throat. 

“Officer Luscheck? May I ask you something?” 

He sighed loudly. 

“What is it, Harper?” 

“I was just wondering, uhm, do… do prison guards have like a set schedule? I mean, your shifts. Are they set or do you pick and chose when you work?” 

Luscheck furrowed his brows, frowning deeply. 

“That’s a weird fucking question. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I was just curious, is all. About how this whole thing works.” Simple, white lies. 

“Uhm, okay,” he started, seemingly confused by your conversation starter. “In federal, we work on a rotating schedule. Two weeks of three days’ night duty, followed by four days off. Then you work four weeks during the day, five to six days a week depending on the shift. Not everyone. I mean, I don’t work nights because I have to be here. With your sorry asses,” he said when a fellow inmate gave him a glare. “Then of course, people take days off and someone else have to cover, so the days can get scrambled here and there. But, that’s the basic idea anyway.” 

You nodded along. 

“Are the posts decided beforehand, or…? Do you just show up and go where you need to go?” 

Luscheck sat back even more in his chair, hands behind his head. 

“Pretty much, yeah,” he said. “Everyone has their favorites so we pick and choose. As long as every post is covered the warden doesn’t give a fuck.” 

Okay, so the schedule was set, but the posts were not. You’d rather have it be the other way around. Now, all you could get to know was which days Barnes and Rogers worked, but you couldn’t really stay clear of them if they were to go out of their way to get to you. And by the looks of it, they did go out of their way to mess with you. But at least now you could expect to see officer Rogers during the night again, depending on which day of his week it was. 

“What about the nightshifts? How do they work?” you asked. 

Luscheck seemed slightly annoyed by your persistent questioning. 

“I don’t know, we… sit in the bubble and watch you sleep. Does that explain it to you?” 

He didn’t even attempt to hide the irritation, but as long as he was answering, you would be asking. 

“You don’t do rounds? Check the dorms?” 

“Sure do. Several times. Make sure none of you ladies are trying anything.” 

His gaze looked searching, like he was looking for signs of calculations. 

“How many guards are there?” 

Luscheck’s brows furrowed in a scowl. 

“I’m under no obligation to tell you, inmate,” he spat. “Get back to work and shut your mouth.” 

You frantically nodded your apology, knowing better than to push. Not that you were especially worried that he would do anything. Out of all the CO’s, Luscheck seemed to be the laziest one in the bunch, and seemed most comfortable when sitting down rather than actually having to do any guarding. 

You logged the information you had been given, pondering how you would get past the clear obstacle of not knowing when or where officers Rogers and Barnes would be. Sure, you could figure out which days they worked, but if they chose where they were posted themselves, there was no getting around that. It was basically useless information. It seemed as hopeless as it felt. The walls closing in. Trapping you in a cage. With them. 

No, no, don’t go there now. They’re not here, they’re not in the shop with you. Take the moment to breath. Relax. Ease up, let your shoulder sag down. It’s going to be a long night as it is, you need every second out of their presence to be one without fear. At least, to an extent. Fear hasn’t left you for many, many years; it’s seeped into your pores, a part of your being like ever-present goosebumps. You need the moments away from them to be like a blanket keeping you warm. 

O.o.O.o.O

The first few hours of the day went by quickly, too quickly, and soon it was time for lunch. No one found prison enjoyable, that you knew, but anytime you had to walk its halls, or frankly just be inside its walls, your entire body felt queasy. It wasn’t your stomach, it was your body. The tension of your muscles like a strained, pulled back spring ready to snap at any moment, but it never did. It just got tighter, and tighter, and tighter, suffocating you. It was exhausting to feel like this all the time. Even harder when the thought reached you that you wouldn’t be feeling like this if you had simply been put in another prison. Anywhere, but here. 

You knew better than to let yourself float away on ‘what ifs’. It felt good for a moment to escape reality and create a new one, but that just left you exposed and vulnerable in the real one. You knew better. Even those short moments of detachment could show enough to miss an upcoming threat. 

“Where’s your tag, inmate?” 

You gasped and jumped at the sound of the officer’s voice. Officer Barnes stood planted by the entry doors to the cafeteria, hands firmly holding his belt. You hadn’t really looked before, but the officer had both a taser and a nightstick along with handcuffs situated in his belt. The damaged he could do, had the right to do should he find reason enough… You gulped at the thought, before your eyes finally landed on his face. 

“I-I’m sorry?” you asked, tucking a stray stand of hair behind your ear, glad for a reason to keep your hands occupied. 

“I said, where’s your tag?” he repeated firmly. “Inmates are required to wear their tags at all times. That’s a shot, Harper.” 

He reached for his writing pad, and you fumbled with the zipper of your hoodie. 

“No, no, I-I’m wearing it.” 

You pulled down the zipper enough to reveal the tag hanging from the breast pocket of your khaki shirt. You hadn’t forgotten it. The officer glanced down at your chest, noting the tag, but his eyes seemed to leer towards your breasts more than the tag. You slowly closed the gap you were holding open to show it to him, trying to hide away. He smirked at your attempt to hide your body from him. 

“It must be visible at all times,” he went on. “As far as I could see, it was not.” 

He started scribbling on the pad, raising a brow at you where you stood frozen on the spot. You immediately clipped the tag from the pocket and placed it on your hoodie instead, visible. 

“I’m sorry, sir.” You know what to say. “Thank you.”

Nate had taught you the lesson of being polite at all times. If you were corrected, in any way, always be grateful. Say ‘thank you’ for the rectification because it did not have to be given. You could have been beaten for the continuance of the wrong behavior. So, say ‘thank you’. 

Bucky looked down at you. Eyes averted, nametag neatly hanging from your hoodie now and your hands straightening down your clothes again. He hadn’t been surprised by your apology, but the words that followed had baffled him. He wasn’t going to lie, it felt like it was the ‘right’ response, but why had you said it without the coercion? He didn’t linger on the thought, instead finished writing down your inmate number (which he and Steve both knew by heart) and code of violation on the piece of paper to save for later. He noticed you were still not moving. Well, you were twitching and looking indecisive as to what to do but you didn’t walk away from him yet. 

You were unsure if you were allowed to go into the cafeteria yet. Was he finished with you? You didn’t want to be disrespectful and walk away before he deemed it alright. 

“Co-could I go now, sir?” 

You hated hearing your voice stutter, but you couldn’t control it. The officer’s mouth twitched upwards in a one-sided smile. 

“In a hurry to gulp down the sloppy shit Red’s cooked up, huh?” he mocked. “Yeah, well. I suppose it’s better than the alternative, right?” 

The memory of the lint covered, stale piece of protein bar reminded you of said alternative. You swallowed dryly. Surely, whatever Red had made would be better than that. 

Officer Barnes just scoffed, and nodded his chin towards the food line. 

“Better get going, Harper. Might run out. Then what are you gonna eat?” 

His face shone from his wide grin. You held back the shiver that wanted to run through you, nodded your head politely at him and hurried to the line. You felt his eyes on you the entire time, probably watching you shamelessly. The instinct to look back was hard to fight, but you’d rather continue without the confirmation. If he was watching you, there was nothing you could do anyway. 

You grabbed the tray that was handed to you, thankful it didn’t look as bad as officer Barnes had made it out to be, and sat down at a nearby table. Anything to keep the distance between yourself and the officer still standing by the doors, throwing glances at you. You were surprised when Nichols sat down opposite you, not having seen her coming. 

“Hey there, Baby Blues,” she said and set her tray down, immediately starting to pick at it. 

“Hi.” 

You were a little bit taken aback by her friendliness. You’d thought they’d all kind of abandoned ship when they heard about you sentencing. Though, Nicky didn’t seem too bothered by it. 

“Looks like you’ve got an admirer,” she said, a knowing smile on her face. 

Your eyes furrowed. 

“W-what?” 

“That guard, Barnes, seem to be eyeing ya quite a bit. Care to tell me something?” 

She wiggled her brows at the suggestion. Your eyes shot to the officer, who in return gave a smile of all teeth, but no kindness. You inadvertently ducked your head down to speak. 

“It’s… It’s nothing like that.” It really, really wasn’t. 

“Oh, what? H-he’s not your type? Come on. If you’re gonna fuck a guard, any guard, it’s gonna be Barnes,” she chuckled. “Or Rogers. ‘Cause I’ve seen him hanging around too. Are-are blonds more your type?” 

“Nicky,” you said firmly. You didn’t want to think of either men in that way. You didn’t want to think of _any_ man that way. 

“Trust me, it’s… It’s not like that. At all.” 

You started scratching the table beneath your nails to ground yourself. The ice was getting severally thin beneath you, threatening to drown you in flashbacks filled with pain, blood and fear. And you had the feeling it wasn’t just flashbacks picking at you, but all those foreboding ‘what ifs’. 

She had noticed the somber tone of your voice, absentmindedly chewing her food as she looked you over, noticing more than just a somber tone. 

“What? It-it’s not consensual? W-what’s going on, kid?” 

You strained to keep a lid on your emotions, and forcing yourself not to look over at the officer. 

“They… they haven’t touch me,” you started, voice low. 

You didn’t consider what they’d done touching in that way. No, you knew what that felt like. And despite not liking whatever they had already done to you, it was, physically, a walk in the park to what you’d had to endure.

Nicky leaned in closer as you continued on, voice low and soft. 

“They’re just… harassing me, I suppose. Because of… you know. Nate.” 

She hummed in response, looking over her shoulder to see that officer Barnes once again was facing your direction, eyes landing on you and her all too often. If she hadn’t just heard the words you’d spoken, she wouldn’t have thought much about the way he looked, but now, with new information, the guard did look surprisingly wily. You fought to keep your eyes down and focusing on the tray, not wanting to agitate the man more than Nicky was possibly already doing. 

“You need to be careful, alright?” she said when facing you again. “These guys take their jobs very seriously, okay? They’re are all high on testosterone, you know? Wh-when they want to mess with ya, they will find a way to mess with ya. Simple as that.” 

“You don’t think I know that?” you said. “Trust me, I’ve noticed. I…” you bent down lower to speak. “I couldn’t sleep last night because officer Rogers was watching me. I just got a shot walking in here because officer Barnes couldn’t see my nametag. I’ve gotten several shots already and I’ve only been here for two days, Nicky. I’m freaking out.” 

Your voice was shaking all over, eyes darting up to the officer before quickly shooting back down when meeting his gaze. 

You hugged yourself, knuckles turning white from the pressure. You’d expected to feel a little better telling someone, just lifting the lid slightly to not have the pot boil over, but instead you just felt even more scared than before, saying it out loud. It made it all real.

Nicky reached out to place a hand atop of yours. 

“Hey, hey. Kid. Take it easy, alright? I’m sure they’re just taking the piss out of you to, you know, settle the score so to speak. I’m sure it’ll settle down in a few days.” She looked back at the officer, still watching. “Or weeks. A month, tops.” 

She smiled, trying to make you feel better. You appreciated the gesture, smiling back at her but it never reached your eyes. 

Nicky dropped the subject, you figured it was out of kindness more than anything, and started filling you in on the latest prison gossip. Something about Sophia Burset’s waiting list in the salon, her own latest escapades with Morello in the chapel and Red’s trouble with a new inmate insulting her food. You listened absentmindedly, hearing bits and pieces here and there, but your mind was burning hot with trying to stay calm, stay here in the present with Nicky, and not commenting on how officer Barnes walked past you one too many times, leered at you one too many times. You ended up somewhere in between the present and the prison of your own mind.

Someone from the kitchen nodded Nicky over, affectively ending your one-sided conversation, wanting her attention for something. She sighed, before looking apologetically at you. Your eyes looked lost in the beyond as it were. 

“Sorry, kid,” she said. “Mommy’s calling. I’ll see you around, Baby Blues.” 

With that, she stood up, grabbed her tray and left you behind. You didn’t want to sit there all by your lonesome, so instead you took the opportunity when the officer wasn’t passing, to go bus your tray. You threw away the rest of the food, which was in truth most of the food, seeing your stomach couldn’t take any of it due to the lump already occupying the space, and placed the tray and mug in the case for washing. When you went to turn, officer Barnes had once again taken a steady stand between you and the door. You had to pass him to get out. God, you hoped you could do so without getting a comment or otherwise. But, of course not. 

“Venting a little to the junkie, are we?” 

He sounded almost more mocking than annoyed. Almost. 

“What? You think Nichols gives a shit about you?” he scoffed, crossing his arms and looked out across the cafeteria. “Please. That family only look out for themselves. When push comes to shove, she won’t be anywhere to be seen. And we plan to do a lot of pushing, Harper. So, unless you want dear little Nicky to get pushed along with you, you’d do best to keep your mouth shut. ‘Cause there’s a lot of pot holes lurking here and there for a druggie, you know. And I’d personally hate for her to fall in one. You got me?” 

Tears stung your eyes as they weighed you down. Your entire jaw was trembling, your teeth audibly rattling from it. The threats were no longer just about you, you could no longer only look out for your best interests, but others. People you now had come to care about. You would be totally responsible for anything that happened to her. He was giving it to you straight. Mouth off or tell anybody, someone else will pay the price with you. It was like being put in a straightjacket. Whatever small hope you had of talking to these guards seeped away. They wouldn’t listen to you. They weren’t out to hear the truth. They just wanted you to suffer. Alone.

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as you tried to find your voice again. Your throat was clogged with pleas and cries for him to ‘please, don’t do this’, ‘please, don’t hurt her’. But what came out was a solemn;

“Yes, sir. I understand.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little backstory of what happened with Nate, and his friendship with Steve and Bucky. 
> 
> And a little light shone on their thoughts and feelings, and maybe plans...

Steve walked into the staffroom, placing the paper take-away bag on the table and hung off his brown leather jacket on one of the free hooks on the wall. He’d brought Micky D’s for both him and Bucky, a repeating occurrence during late- or nightshifts. It wasn’t really on their way to work, but the extra minutes of driving was worth it when it meant none of them had to cook. 

Steve and Bucky were the only ones living in the houses on the prison grounds. All other staff members wanted to live in the city, but Steve and Bucky wanted the privacy it offered, and it was offered freely. They had lived separately, each in a house of their own, but they always ended up spending the time off together, at one place or the other. Steve had the nicer kitchen, and his bathroom was just a tad bigger than Bucky’s, so when Bucky’s things started littering the place here and there, they saw no reason why he shouldn’t just move in. It was a two bedroom after all, so why not use it? The other house would still be there should they change their minds.

They had both gotten tagged as ‘gay’ by some of their fellow officers, Luscheck in particular, a guy who just had to comment on whatever shit he saw. Neither men had been offended, but made it clear that they were just in fact just friends, and now roommates, but that there was nothing else going on between them. And there wasn’t.

Steve and Bucky had known each other since long before Litchfield, and their friendship ran deep, but it ended at that. They were quite content just fucking some random girl at some sleezy bar, or out around the back, but when they came home, they wanted their alone time. Neither one was interested in being in a relationship. After all, their entire day was spent around women. It was nice coming home to some peace and quiet where they could casually lounge in their underwear and not clean the place for weeks on end if neither one felt like it. They were comfortable that way. Some more than others. Bucky was rarely the one to do any of the tidying.

Nate had used to come around quite a bit, all three men enjoying Friday night football over a few bottles of beer and take-out. They had all bonded over their shared interests in motorcycles when Nate showed up at work sporting a brand-new HD one day. Bucky and Steve just rode theirs from time to time, the car being the more sensible option when in uniform and all. But it had sparked their interest in the guy. They talked more during their shifts, shared posts sometimes, and eventually invited him over to watch a game. 

The late-night get-togethers had all been casual, but when Luscheck had heard of it, Steve and Bucky weren’t the only ones earning the tag ‘gay’ or ‘fag’. But Nate hadn’t taken the, in his mind, clear insult lightly. He had made damn sure Luscheck knew he was no fucking fag, promising a beatdown should he start running his mouth with things that were very much incorrect, and outright damaging to his image.

That had been when Nate had started bragging to Steve and Bucky about you, his younger stepsister. He had talked about how he would fuck you properly like you deserved to be fucked should he be given the chance. How he’d make you his bitch, put you in your place and make you his toy to use however he’d please, how you were basically asking for it. He never said that he’d actually done any the things he spoke of, instead talking about it like they were fantasies, unobtainable dreams and ideas.

He had even shown the other men pictures of you. Pictures taken of you dressed up for a night at the movies, or in your pajamas, or even sleeping, very much unbeknownst to you. He had let the videos and more graphic pics go unseen. That was for his entertainment only. 

Steve and Bucky had both taken a liking to you, finding you somewhat attractive despite your age and not really being either of their type. They eventually started to fantasize about those things too, asking Nate for updates on you, asking if he’d gotten around to fucking you yet. They were only met with grins and winks in return.

It hadn’t taken long for both Steve and Bucky to start sharing their own fantasies as well, all having a tad of violence or control in them. None of them had been particularly outspoken about it, wanting to keep that sort of thing somewhat private, but hey, certain things could be said out loud. 

Friday nights became a noticeably clear guy’s night; bragging about their latest conquests, talking about updates on their motorcycles had there been any, drinking and screaming at the football players and what they did wrong in the game. It became a regular occurrence. A comfortable routine. Until it stopped. 

It had been all over the news when Nate Millers died, the police rendering it a homicide. They said they couldn’t rule out self-defense but that the violence of the crime suggested otherwise. After all, how do you stab someone seventeen times in self-defense? 

It had come as a shock, a lightning bolt out of a clear, blue sky. Bucky had been the more outspoken of the two, swearing and punching walls when he’d heard it, being told by an eerily calm Steve that he’d better patch up every single hole he made in the walls when he was done. Steve had been more brooding than anything, short-tempered when it came to infractions at work, handing out shots and manhandling inmates when the opportunity presented itself. The SHU had been overflowing after just a week. There were no doubts in eithers’ mind that it could have been anything other than a clear-cut premeditated murder. After all, Nate was bigger, stronger and faster than you. Yet you were alive and he was not. Do the math.

The news reported on the progress of your trial almost daily. Before then, updating the public of your recovery in hospital after the mutual stabbing. You were taken, quite literally, from hospital, to trial, to prison. You had spent almost a month in recovery before the doctor deemed it alright for you to possibly handle a prison sentence, at least physically. Your mental health hadn’t been taken in consideration in that aspect. 

Bucky had given a sarcastic, sinister laugh when the reporter said that you’d pleaded not guilty on the charges, calling it self-defense, defending your actions by blaming years of abuse, which you stated you had proof of. But no officer had ever found any, other than what littered your body, but there was no proving Nate had done any of it.

You were overruled in court, and sentenced to five years in federal prison. The judge had gone easy on you, seeing your age and the state of your body, which your lawyer had been sure to document. The insanity plea had also been overruled, but the judge seemed to have taken it into consideration, not being as convinced as the police officers that you hadn’t been a victim of some kind of abuse and therefore mentally and emotionally damaged, and that it might very well have been a self-defense situation gone wrong. But never the less, the sentence was set. Five years at Litchfield correctional facility. Steve and Bucky had both drank to that. 

Everything they had ever said in passing with Nate, every little fantasy of power, control, or hurt, was now starring one single person. You. The rest didn’t matter. As long as it was done to you. Neither Steve nor Bucky had ever thought about any of it in such graphic ways before, never actually thought about beating a woman, or raping her. Just simple control, consented, slight dom/sub kind of things. But adding the anger they both felt, those scenarios soon became more and more violent, and less and less about consent. 

“Steve,” Bucky said, when he found his friend and colleague already in the staffroom when he came in for his late lunchbreak, clock almost turning two. He noticed the take-away sitting on the table. “I knew I could count on you, pal,” he said when he all but dove towards the inviting brown bag. 

Steve grunted in response, sitting down by the table opposite Bucky. 

“Yeah, and you’re stacking up on your credit there, pal. You still owe me for the two runs last week, Buck. I’m getting tired of playing delivery guy for you. Plus, you’re a bad tipper.” 

Steve grabbed his own burger from the bag, after Bucky was done digging his own out, and grabbed one of the sodas from the holder. It was a miracle they both managed to keep their figures, seeing how much crap they were both eating in one sitting. But with several visits to the gym every week, they could both afford to pig out on a few lazy days. 

“Yeah, yeah, the next trips are on me, I know. Don’t get your panties in a twist, punk.” 

“Jerk.” 

Both men smiled between bites, content with just eating their burgers in silence, downing it seemingly without breathing. 

Bucky always chose to have a late lunch when Steve was working nights, and Steve did the same when the tables were turned. Not only was there the very tempting possibility of fast-food, but the staffroom had already cleared out, which meant some well needed downtime from being civil with other people. When working with over two hundred inmates and staff, it had a tendency to feel crowded. And given the circumstances, it was the perfect opportunity to speak open and plain about their new favorite inmate.

“How she doin’?” Steve asked, as he crumpled the wrapping paper in his hands when he’d finished his burger, and plopping it back inside the bag. “She tired?” he said with a dark smirk, knowing full and well that you did not get much sleep last night.

Bucky nodded his head with a smile on his face. “Yeah, you could say that. She’s looking worn, man. What you do to her last night? You holding out on me?” he asked with a wink. 

“No, you know I wouldn’t do that. Whatever pleasure I got last night, she was not a part of,” he said with a knowing smile, taking a sip of his light soda. “At least not physically. No, I just talked to her. Might have scared her a bit, she was crying and everything,” he said with a chuckle. “God, she’s easy, isn’t she?” 

“Jeez, I know. Can barely look at her without making her jump.” 

Silence filled the room for a fleeting moment. It seemed they were both hit by the same thought. Maybe all those things Nate had said weren’t just hypothetical? It would explain your behavior. But neither Bucky nor Steve wanted that to be true, it would end their shenanigans all too soon if that was the case, both blinded by anger and hurt. So, neither said a word, letting their doubts stay unspoken. 

“I saw her chatting with Nichols at lunch,” Bucky said, also throwing his crumpled wrapper in the bag before getting up and throwing it all in the trash. “She might have been spilling some beans by the looks of it.” 

“Think it’s anything to worry about?” Steve asked. 

Bucky leaned against the counter by the sink, crossing his arms.

“No, I don’t think so. At least not with Harper. Told her a thing or two about what could happen to Nichols should she keep running her mouth. Seemed effective enough,” he said with a wide grin. “Think Nichols need the same talk?” 

Steve rose to his feet with a sigh, and walked over to the sink where Bucky stood leaning, to fill up his shaker with water. Bucky watched on, like it wasn’t the hundredth time he’d seen Steve prepare a protein shake. 

“No, I think it’s best not to openly confirm anything. For all she knows, Harper could just be another scared newt, you know? Making shit up, seeing mind ghosts and all that.” 

“Think Nichols and the others know about Millers? ‘Cause if they do, they might be onboard with whatever shit Harper’s been spreading. Yesterday at lunch they all seemed a little spooked, don’t you think? Talking? Might have been about that.” 

Steve contemplated it as he poured the brown, chocolaty powder into the water. Confronting Nichols could mean too many confirmations. They didn’t know what you had told Nicky, or the rest of the group for that matter. 

“Maybe just a check,” he said after a while, shaking the bottle loudly. “Just… to let her know we have the upper hand should she try anything, and whatever Harper’s been telling her doesn’t hold much ground. You think Nichols is the only one she’s been talking to?” 

“I haven’t really seen her talk to anyone much, to be honest,” Bucky said. “Besides Nichols at lunch, and the rest of the Ruskie family yesterday. Plus, whatever we tell Nichols, she’d bring back to them, so I think it should be enough.” Steve nodded along, agreeing. 

“Yeah, but I just don’t wanna have Nichols spreading it further than it needs to go. You know how these bitches are, gossiping all over the place. Enough inmates start blabbering to their counselors about rouge COs, wheels are gonna start turning, you know.” 

“Could always tell her that,” Bucky mumbled. Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “Like I told Harper; there are plenty of pitfalls for a junkie. Would only be kind to warn a sober drug addict to watch her step, right?” Steve smiled at the idea, making Bucky grin back widely. 

“Yeah, you’re such a nice guy, Buck.” 

“That’s what I’ve been told.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Mentions of past assault. Also a panic attack/episode early on. You have been warned.

The work shop was louder in the afternoon. Whatever work had needed to be done around the prison had gotten done before lunch, and all the inmates were back working on whatever on-going project they had in the shop. 

You still hadn’t managed to get you lamp to work. But honestly, you hadn’t really been trying that hard to fix it. The manual wasn’t even in English, and you’d never had to rewire a lamp before so you had no experience to help you through it either. Electrical work overall really wasn’t your forte. 

Officer Luscheck was once again planted by his desk, slouched back in his chair looking half asleep. How could they let this man work with inmates? He paid no attention to what was going on. Someone could easily sneak up on him and he wouldn’t even know before it was too late. 

Wait. Why are you thinking like this? Luscheck was not the enemy, and you never want to hurt anybody. You never wanted to hurt anybody. You never wanted to hurt anybody.

FLASHBACK

Wet, sticky blood covered your hands when you drew back from the pool of it, pierced into your abdomen. Searing pain shot through you at the speed of your already racing pulse. You looked down. The crimson staining your body looked almost reminiscent of an intended pattern, a painting of blood against your skin, or something out of a Shakespeare poem.

Nate’s chuckle drew your attention back to him where he stood a few feet away, blood coloring his hand as he spun the guilty knife leisurely. His skin was covered in glistening sweat, his blond hair sticking to his forehead. Even when he went to wipe it with the back of his hand did it refused to let go.

“God!” he exclaimed with a grunt. “I love the feeling of cold metal slicing through flesh. Don’t you?” 

Your pained moans and pants let him know the excitement was one-sided. Nate motioned the knife in the air like he was cutting you all over. 

“It’s just… so pretty to see it carve through the skin, the-the blood bursting out like a broken dam finally set free, you know? It’s so… freeing,” he laughed at the double of the word. “Oh, man, I’m getting hard just looking at it.” His voice calmed. “Let’s see some more, shall we?” 

You tried to back up, blood slicked hands slipping on the floorboards in a feeble attempt to run away from the pain promised. 

“No, n-no, please. Nate, please,” you begged, your voice carrying pain and fear as you gulped in air. 

You can’t do this. Not again. You can’t. 

Not again. 

Not again. 

END OF FLASHBACK

No, no, no. Brain, stop doing that, stop bringing that night back! You never wanted to think about that night ever again. The night where everything came crashing down, where everything went so wrong. Deep breaths. Breathe in. Breathe out. Feel the world around you. Feel it beneath your fingers. Your right here. Right here. 

“Hey,” someone said. 

You shrieked loudly, swirling around towards the voice calling out. It was a blonde woman, Chapman, who had called your attention. She looked at you worriedly. 

“Are you okay?” she asked. 

No, you were not okay. Your body was shaking from tension, your chest felt tight. You were not okay. 

“Yes,” you choked out. “Yes, I’m fine.” 

Every breath came out jagged, forced. 

“Really? ‘Cause you’re crying. You do know you’re crying, right?” 

What? When had you started crying? 

You quickly dried your face, finding the evidence that you had in fact started crying. You wiped your cheeks with the back of your hands, then on your sleeves to make sure you got every salty drop off. This explained why your nose was feeling both runny and stuffy when you tried to breathe. 

“Oh, I’m-I’m sorry.” 

You smiled apologetically at her, not knowing what else to do. She gently put her hand on your shoulder. 

“Hey, no, it’s okay, you’re… Look, you’re obviously upset. Why don’t you go outside and get some fresh air? That might help.” Your head started nodding all on its own it would seem, your hand still on your face wiping at nothing. “Yeah? Would you like me to come with you?”

She was nice, kind even, but at this moment you had no control over what might come out of your mouth or what was even going through your head, and you did not want to risk you mouth keeping up with your mind and spill any beans on… well, anything. 

“No. No, no, I’m fine, really, thank you,” you said as you pushed past her, barely holding it all together. 

The door slammed open harder than necessary, but you couldn’t care less. You bolted out, pacing back and forth and all over, before ending up just around the corner of electrical. Your back hit the bricks with a sigh. Your knees gave out, and you slid down onto the cold grass. 

Fingers got tangled in your hair, rubbing over your face, then back in the tresses again. You were full on sobbing at this point, but your mind was just completely blank. It was just your body going through the shocks of it all, and there was nothing you could do but ride it out. 

Terror ran through your veins, out through your fingers now gripping your roots painfully, yet they refused to let go and give relief to your aching scalp. Tremors made way to tension. Suffocating sobs exchanged with loud gasps for air. 

“Please, stop, please, stop, please, stop, please, stop,” you chanted over and over, not really knowing what you were pleading for, just trying to regain your senses and seize control of your body again. It seemed without use. You just had to ride it out. 

Thankfully, no one came out to check on you, and no one walked past where you sat hunched over on the ground. Luscheck being the slacker of a guard he was, was proving more helpful than anything at this point. Slowly, your body and mind started making sense again. You knew it would, but in the moment, nothing feels like it’s ever going to be okay ever again. No matter how logical you are, no matter how much you know it isn’t happening in that moment, you can’t rationalize your way out of an episode. You just couldn’t. You knew. You’d tried many times. 

Some breaths came out gasps and wheezes, but your breathing was starting to level out. The streaks of tears started to dry and stale on your skin, pinching it like it was marble. You were all out of energy to even bother trying to dry them. So, you just sat there. And waited. Waited for it all to be over.

O.o.O.o.O

The prison chapel was empty, except for the curly haired hippie junkie laying by the edge of the raised stage, with one leg hanging off, and earbuds blaring whatever station came through clear from the radio. She was supposed to fix the mic on the stand, or so she claimed, but that kind of work could take hours, obviously, and she deserved a break. 

The music was playing loud, loud enough to block out the noise of opening doors behind the seats, or the approaching footsteps that followed suit. Instead, she felt someone kick her hanging foot to get her attention. Her eyes opened with a start, landing on officer Barnes. She yanked the headphones off.

“This room is for prayer,” he said, raising a brow at her lounging form. 

“Never heard of it.” Nicky pulled up on her elbow, putting her leg up. “What can I do you for?” 

Barnes widened his stand at her side. “I see you’ve taken in a stray.” 

“A stray?” Nicky burrowed her brows together. “What? You-you mean Harper?” Bucky nodded his head to the side in affirmative. “Oh, well, sh-she’s not exactly taken in by any means. Red thinks she’s more trouble than she’s worth,” she scoffed.

“But you disagree, right? You wanna take her under your wing, protect her from all the evils of this world. Maybe start a new family of your own, take her in as your daughter even. Playing house where you’re the mama, and laying the rules and all.” 

“I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about, man.” 

“Language,” Bucky spat. “You want a shot, inmate?” Nicky’s mouth turned to a thin line, holding back whatever remark might come shooting out. “Didn’t think so.” 

Bucky picked up the radio laying at her side, pulling at it to tighten the cord of the headphones now resting around Nichols’ neck. He leisurely toyed with it in his hands. 

“What were you and Harper talking about?” he asked.

“At lunch? Not much. I-I thought she had an admirer seeing how you kept eyeing her in the food line and all. Sh-she assured me that wasn’t the case.”

“Did she, now?” 

“Yeah,” Nicky said almost cockily where she lay. “She did.” 

Bucky started winding the cord around his hand, closing the space between them with every loop. But Nicky didn’t look too faced, despite the man’s clear advantage and towering height. 

“Well,” he started. “She’s not exactly alone in feeling eyeballed and harassed. All the new inmates tend to feel that way when they first come to prison. Perhaps it’s just her mind playing tricks on her.” 

He tightened the cord, Nicky straining her neck to keep in place. 

“Yeah,” she said low. “Perhaps.” 

Bucky’s eyes bore into hers. 

“But if not–” he continued. “–and whatever Harper thinks she’s been experiencing, or thinks she’s heard, does hold some truth to it… Where does that leave you?” 

“I-I don’t follow,” she stuttered. 

“I’m just asking, all in jest…” he held up both of his hands in a nonthreatening gesture. “What you planned on doing should anything happen to her.”

“Why would anything happen to her?” 

Bucky gave a hollow laugh, teeth bared more in threat than good spirit.

“Well… prison is a dangerous place, after all. Plenty of snares and snags that can get you. Getting caught up with the wrong people, gang violence, shanking, shitty healthcare, even simple food poisoning from eating that shit Red calls food. Drugs.” Nicky’s eye twitched from the mention of her long-lost friend. “I’m sure there are ways to score whatever it is you need in here,” he said in a suggesting tone. 

She set her jaw, trying to keep it from jittering. 

“I’m clean.” Her voice was laced with forced assertion. “Alright? I-I don’t want nothing to do with that shit.” 

Bucky’s face contorted in feigned concern. 

“No?” he asked softly, before he slowly started nodding his head like he was mulling something over. “Better hope it doesn’t find you then, right?” He had said it all with a smile.

If anyone was to walk in at this moment, it would look like a friendly chat between an inmate and an officer, and not the scene it truly was; said officer threatening said inmate with planted contraband, enabling drug use, and an added sentence to go along with the ride down the hill. And those were some serious threats.

Bucky waited patiently for Nicky to respond. The radio was still held firmly in his hand, the cord still tight between them. He noted the flash of worry in her usually soft green eyes. She blinked rapidly.

“Yeah,” she said, once she found her voice again. “Better keep my distance.” 

His smile spread, before giving her a quick wink.

“Atta girl.” 

Bucky put the radio back down beside her, safe and sound, before he walked away, leaving Nichols to contemplate what had been said. Junkie or not, she was not a stupid girl, contrary to popular beliefs. He put his hands in his pockets as he climbed the steps back up to the entry doors. Before he stepped out, he turned his head back. 

“Back to work inmate,” he called out loudly. “I don’t wanna have to write you a shot.” Nicky scrambled to her feet at his command, taking her radio with her. He never said she couldn’t listen to music while she worked. 

Even though she didn’t look back at him again, he gave her a reassuring smile. Atta girl.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who know OITNB, the woman in the bathroom is Miss Claudette :) 
> 
> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Mentions of past rape and physical trauma. You have been warned.

Wind tousled your hair, blowing it in your face and whipping at your already tender skin. How much time had passed you didn’t know, you just knew it was over. You were back in the present, back in the prison with its crumbling façade, shitty food and terrible, cruel CO’s. At least they weren’t here. No one was. Everyone, well, most, were at their workstation at this time of day. And the ones without work spent most of their time in their rooms or dorms. The prison was as calm as it could be. 

The prison was as calm as it could be. Right! That meant the bathroom would be the calmest of the day. This might be the best time to shower and wash without being seen. 

You quickly rose to your feet, hopeful as ever, not caring if your khakis were stained or muddy from the ground. They would soon end up in laundry anyway, and you’d be clean and fresh in new clothes. 

You rushed through somewhat vacant halls as fast as you could without running, heading straight to your bunk to get your things together; gathering towels, shower shoes, soap, laundry bag and new clothes in your arms like your life depended on it. Even on the way to the bathroom the halls remained almost empty. There were a few inmates here and there, and guards keeping an eye out where more than two inmates gathered. 

Officer Barnes was nowhere to be seen, and you knew he was not allowed in the bathroom unless there was an emergency. Relief sagged your shoulders immensely at the thought. Instead you found the very kind officer Fisher guarding the hall. She gave you a shy but kind smile when she saw you. You weren’t the only inmate to prefer privacy when showering it would seem by her look.

The B-dorm bathroom was completely empty when you arrived, but you doubted it would stay that way for long. There were more than two hundred inmates in the prison after all, and an empty room of any kind must be a rare sight. 

You walked around the sinks to the showers, picking the stall furthers away from the door but still hidden behind the wall where the sinks were, not wanting someone catching a glimpse just from peeking around the corner. 

You placed the new clothes on the bench in an organized display and stripped of your pants, your legs being the most spared part of your body. There was a long, white stripe going up your right thigh from when Nate had simply wanted to see how long you could keep from screaming. It hadn’t taken long at all to render you a shrieking mess, but he had still finished the cut from just above your knee to the apex of your thigh. It had healed well enough, and could easily be explained away by any form of accident. It was what was hidden beneath your shirt that wasn’t as easily explained. 

You removed the hoodie and short sleeved khaki shirt, hanging them on a hook beside your pants neatly, to keep them separated from the clean ones. You were left in nothing but the grey, long sleeved shirt you had on underneath, and underwear. Even though it would only be women in here, you were never comfortable taking you panties off. How thin, worn, stretched fabric could make you feel less exposed was beyond you, but you held on to any lifeline keeping you from falling apart. 

You hung the towel, a new sports bra and a new shirt on the side of the stall for quick access, and drew the curtains to cover you from sight. Listening one last time to make sure you were still alone in the room, you grabbed the hem of the shirt and pulled it over your head, bringing the bra along with it, and tossed them out to land where they may. Your free hand immediately went to cover the lower part of your abdomen from sight. Should anyone peek in and see anything, it would not be…that. 

Scars littered your body like falling confetti. Some short but wide, some long and thin, and some just looked like scratches not left alone to heal properly. And the youngest one still blushing where it had yet to heal. 

But the thick, bold lines carved deep into your flesh, the masterpiece left so you would never ever forget what he had done to you that night so long ago… It couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than the truth. There was no hiding behind some made-up story of an accident or surgery. Nothing could ever begin to explain it, other than the reason for its existence.

You remembered that night like it happened only a few hours ago. It was the night of your birthday. Both your mom and Nate’s dad had been out of town and would be for some weeks still to come. It had only been you and Nate, until he decided to bring some of his friends over for what he called a special birthday gift. Special indeed…

What was supposed to be a good day, soon turned drastically different. Nate and his friends had no celebration in mind when they brought you down to the basement. Nate had already violented you many times before that, but that night was by far the worst night of you life. That night, they had all taken turns raping you, one followed after the other. It went on for hours. Slaps, punches, kicks, you would take it all over what they did to you. Over what Nate did to you. 

When the others had left, Nate had said he had another gift in store for you. Something to remember this truly special night by. You were already immovable on the floor, beaten and bloodied, yet he had secured you there with rope and chain. He wanted you to feel just how helpless you were, and how in control he was. 

Your tears had dried out long ago, there was nothing left to give. Every muscle burned and ached from the futile fight you had mustered, without anything other than added pain as the prize. You felt hollow. You felt cold. And then you had felt the sharp steel of a knife brushing against you skin.

At first it was simple grazes with it, leaving little marks here and there all over. Like confetti. Until he had sunk it deeper, into the soft flesh of your lower belly. 

Screams left you without warning, echoing in the cold basement where you lay. You had begged and pleaded but he had been relentless. There was no stopping him, no reasoning with him to have mercy on your wounded body.

Oblivion had overtaken you when he grabbed the piece of sundered skin with his fingers, and torn it lose from its home. He was literally tearing the skin off your body, piece by agonizing piece. When you passed out, he stopped. No. He wanted you to feel every part of it. There was no escaping him, and there was no escaping the pain. 

What had felt like hours, and maybe it had been, of searing pain coursing through you finally ended with a pleased sigh from Nate at the sight of you. ‘I never thought you had it in you’, he had said when he put the knife down to admire his work. His masterpiece. Your ruin.

You had stayed there on the floor long after he had untied you and left himself. It felt like you had died, at least a part of you had. There was no going back after this. There was no healing and forgetting. There was only pain, and the scars to prove. It would never go away. There was no hiding the word carved into your skin;

WHORE. 

It expanded from one side to the other, reaching from above your pelvis almost to your bellybutton. Your hand couldn’t even cover the whole thing, but it was better protection than nothing. You were only fifteen at the time of its making, but you could still feel the drying blood on your skin. It still felt like mere hours ago. 

You washed your hair as quickly as one hand would allow you to, not really bothering with any care for it. The soap bar roamed your body in a swift, deliberate skate, hurriedly washing what it found, bumping along every scar. Your hand dove underneath your soaked underwear to clean what lay hidden beneath. You hated touching yourself there, it caused nothing but pain, and brought more trouble than it was worth. 

Turning off the water blindly behind you, you listened intently for any sign of someone sharing the room with you as you hugged the towel around you, breathing a loud sigh of relief at the touch. Covered. Safe.

You scrubbed your body almost raw in the haste of things, drying your hair enough so it wouldn’t soak the shirt too much. Loud, thudding heartbeats filled your ears. You just wanted it all to be over, to get back into clothes and hide away in the sea of khaki. 

With the towel wrapped around your waist to still cover the scars, you hurried to pull down the bra over your chest, followed by the shirt which was now spotted with dark grey dots where the water had accidentally hit it. Both items fought you the entire way, catching on still wet patches of skin.

You stepped out of the stall with careful steps like you were afraid of someone catching wind of your whereabouts if you dared make a sound. But you still couldn’t hear anyone. 

You made quick work of exchanging your wet panties with a dry pair, the fabric sticking to your skin as you dragged them up your thighs. 

Too caught up in the difficult procedure of getting dressed when still mostly wet, you failed to either hear or see the woman standing calmly by the side of the wall. She could see you perfectly, but you first noticed her shadow. 

A startled gasp left you at the sight. You clung to the towel which released its grip on your waist to fall limply into your hands, revealing a part of what you never wanted anyone to see. With clumsy fingers you tried to pull the shirt down before it was too late, but she had already seen enough. 

It was an older black woman. Her hair was hidden beneath a floral headwrap, but you doubted it would be any other color than grey when it was free. She wasn’t short per se, but she was shorter than you. You had seen her around, but never got her name. 

Both of you stood in silence staring at each other. She looked calm and deliberating, you like a deer caught in headlights where you stood frozen. A full body tremble traveling through you as you let out the breath you didn’t realize you had been holding.

You hoped she hadn’t seen too much. The shirt must have surely covered it before the towel did. It was a sight you never wanted to see yourself, let alone risk the world getting an eyeful of it. The other scars you could live with, explain away, but not this. 

“Are you all done in the shower?” she asked, her voice quite stern to the sound, though she looked as calm as water on a windless day. She spoke with an accent, almost French-sounding, but not quite. 

She stared back at your doe eyes, awaiting a response than never seemed to surface. Your voice was caught in your throat. 

“Are you deaf, girl?” she said, though the question wasn’t malicious. “Are you done taking your shower? I would also like to shower, and I would like to shower alone.” 

“Uh…” Great Jess, good response. Work, brain, work! 

She rolled her eyes. “Please, if you don’t mind,” she said and motioned for the exit. 

You looked down at your clothes scattered on the bench. You still had a few items to go, and you’d rather not do it in front of this scary, but seemingly kind, stranger. 

“I-I… I just have to finish getting dressed,” you said. “Then I’ll leave.” 

She raised her chin, but didn’t say another word on the matter, and went back behind the dividing wall, giving you some much needed privacy. 

You exhaled loudly and shakenly at her departure, hands already grabbing your trousers and socks and hoodie and forcing them on within a blink of an eye it would seem. All of a sudden, you were fully dressed and leaving, with everything used and wet safely inside the laundry bag for drop off. You felt her eyes on you as you passed.

As if a roadblock had been put up before your feet, you stopped in your tracks. Just a few more steps and you would be out of here. But the worry ate away at you. 

You turned your head slightly, just enough to see her in your peripheral vision. 

“What did you see?” Your voice was shaking, and barely louder than a whisper. But she heard you. 

“Nothing if you don’t want me to,” she said, looking at your back from the reflection in the mirror. “I can keep secrets.” 

Hiding amongst the wet droplets already running down your face, a tear of relief fell down with them. She wouldn’t say. Whatever it was she saw, she’d keep it safe. 

“Thank you.” 

You spared a sincere look back at her, earning an approving nod from the woman. The corners of your mouth tugged upwards in a small smile at her, before you remembered she wanted her alone time as well, so you left her in peace. 

Still somewhat lost in thought, your feet led you towards corridor C where the laundry was, to drop of your wet, dirty clothes. It didn’t matter how you got there, as long as you got there. And spiraling thoughts were hard to stop, although you couldn’t quite make sure which direction the spiral was heading. Worry mixed with relief. Fear mixed with appreciation. 

Either way, some kind of good karma had come your way to only let someone as prudent as whatever-her-name-was see that part of you. You just had to hope your gut was telling you the right thing about her. After all, kind people weren’t abundant in your life so you had little practice. 

The laundry bag was tight against your chest, water seeping through slightly to dampen what you were wearing, but you didn’t care. Your eyes had fallen upon the officer coming towards you. Rogers. 

The rugged blond smiled at you as he drew nearer your now frozen form. Your mouth felt like the Sahara Desert, dry as sand and not a droplet of water for miles. But your eyes didn’t falter from his like they usually do. Instead they held his gleaming gaze as your eyelids shook in the strain not to blink or cry. Had he always been this big? 

Steve slowed his steps when he came up to you. No eyes were on the two of you, the corridor still calm with hours away from dinnertime. Karma seemed to be on his side too. 

He stopped in front of you, noticing your shaking jaw and tight grip on the bag of clothes in your hands. Oh, how he loved the effect he had on you. It didn’t take more than his mere presence to have you trembling and itching to get away. 

He leaned a shoulder against the wall, effectively blocking your way, and crossed his arms across a very wide chest. His stature, which blocked you from any view from behind him, dwarfing you in comparison. 

“Hi, Jess.” 

The words poured out of his mouth like a silver-tongued devil. You let out a shaky, unsure breath, not knowing what to do. 

Steve relished at the response, or lack thereof. He noted your wandering gaze jumping all over the place for any sign of help of escaping him, coming up empty in the narrow corridor, so you had to settle for his shoulder. Vacant halls weren’t all that great now, were they? 

He raised a hand, making you flinch at the movement before freezing, to rake his fingers through your wet hair, bringing his nose down to smell it. An audible gulp forced the lump down your throat at the proximity. Steve smiled at the sound, keeping his head in place and fingers still brushing through the strand of hair. 

“Mm,” he hummed in approval. “I bet it would smell even better if you had some real shampoo. We sell it at commissary, you know.”

His face was so close to yours, you could feel his breath ghost over your face when he spoke. You wanted nothing more than to cower back and shrink away from him, but you knew he would never let you do that. He might even find it reason enough for another shot. That seemed to be their forte; finding reasons wherever to file a simple report on bad behavior. 

You had already failed to response to his greeting. You knew he was expecting some kind of answer to his statement. 

“I’ll remember that, sir,” you squeaked. 

It surprised you how steady your voice was, but the force of it didn’t allow for any faltering. You just wanted to get this over with and leave. 

Steve smiled. He’d never thought you’d be this sweet and polite from what he had heard. Going by what Nate had told him about you, you were a brat needing to be shown her place. Guess he had done a pretty good job with you during his time. But now, it was their turn. 

His fingers grazed along your jawline. The touch was soft and sweet, but very much unwanted. You closed your eyes for a second, gathering strength to just survive this. He hadn’t moved away from you at all once you opened them again. Though you kept your gaze set on his shoulder so you didn’t have to see the smug look written across his face.

“Make sure you do,” he said. “It opens in an hour, so I’ll expect to see you there then.” 

Oh, no. You didn’t want to consciously go near the man, your plan had been the exact opposite of that. But this was nothing short of a clear demand, you knew, and you had to head his command to avoid any further indiscretion. 

You nodded in the short space you had in order not to physically bump your head into him. 

“Yes, sir.” 

His smile widened. 

“Good. I’ll see you there, Jessie.” 

He pushed off the wall by his shoulder, and took a step to the side to allow you to walk by, but you had to go between him and the wall. And he made sure that space wasn’t generous. 

Yet another lump had wedged itself in your throat. You swallowed it down as you shot a worried look up at the towering officer. He didn’t move a muscle, smile still apparent on his face as he looked back down at you. 

With slow, careful steps you moved forward, anticipating an arm or shoulder blocking you, but it never came. He seemed content with letting you leave as you were, without any further ado. 

You made yourself as small as you possibly could, and all but squeezed by between the officer and the wall, hugging your bag to your chest tighter than ever, before you were finally free on the other side. 

You kept walking slow, burying the need and want to sprint out of there and into a corner, throwing a glance back at the man still watching you. His smile hadn’t faltered, so you did the polite thing. You smiled back. Just a quick twitch of your lips to show gratitude, but nothing more. 

Steve looked on as your rigid form relaxed with every step bringing you farther away from him. Even though the prison attire wasn’t the most flattering, he didn’t think your ass looked all that bad, the hurry and bounce of your step making it jut out in just the right way to be enticing. 

He bit his lip and let out a low groan at the view, remembering the smell of your clean hair and freshly washed body. Maybe you were his type after all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don't know OITNB, Mr. Healy is a misogynistic, rude asshole... Which I hope to have captured so maybe that requires a TRIGGERWARNING.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

The line to commissary was long, but not long enough for your taste. You’d wished and prayed for it to be so long that time would run out before you had a chance to reach the front. Some of the other girls had talked about that ‘risk’, saying how COs loved to shut the candy store right in their faces. But apparently, that was not the case today. 

You just rounded the corner enough to get a peek at officer Rogers standing inside the cubicle along with inmate Chang handing out the goods, overseeing the ordeal. His hands held a resting grip on his belt where he stood planted behind her, looking patient, simply watching out should anything take place. Though you doubted people actually tried to cause trouble around commissary, not wanting to risk it being shut down. It would be a lose-lose situation for everyone. 

You kept your eyes down, focusing on the tiles on the floor or the boots of the inmates ahead of you. It was better than to have your gaze bop around all over the place just so you didn’t have to look at him. You were there simply because he had told you to be. If it were up to you, you would be on the other side of the prison, hiding in a corner and licking your wounds or something. 

Steve noticed you standing obediently in line, awaiting your turn. A smile painted his face at the sight. It really didn’t take much to get you to follow orders like the good girl he knew you could be. Though honestly most inmates did as they were told, knowing the alternative was not favorable. But still, your obedience was extra enjoyable in his book. 

“Next,” Chang said, sending the inmate before you along. 

You took a step closer to the grating separating you and her, as well as the officer requesting your attendance. He stayed where he was, just watching the transaction like all the ones before.

You didn’t really want to buy anything, shampoo the furthest thing from high priority. You wanted to save what money you had for when you actually needed something, and not use it to replace something given freely simply because a guard wanted your hair to smell a certain way. 

“Uhm…” you started, looking about the stacked shelves behind the inmate, to see if anything sparked your interest. 

Oh, you would have killed for a Pepsi or a Twix, and the salted chips looked pretty inviting too. And of course, there was the obvious option of ramen or some other canned food. Anything to get something that had actual flavor to it. 

Steve noted your longing gazes at the sweet treats available, bypassing the more expensive stuff like headphones, or stationery things. He let out a small huff or air at the thought of you trying so hard to find anything else to buy, other than just what he told you to get. 

“Could-could I please have a, uhm, bottle of shampoo?” you asked carefully. “And maybe, uhm, a Twix?” 

Chang looked like a statue where she stood frozen, or maybe like a wax figurine. Though she had apparently noticed what was written on the paperclip board on the counter. 

“No credit for you,” she said with broken English. “Take seven day to process.” 

You furrowed your brows together. 

“Oh… Oh,” you shot a quick gaze at officer Rogers standing to your right, who was looking on with a hint of a smile on his face. He was the one who told you to go to commissary after all. “I-I thought–” 

“Checks are to be sent to the office in Iowa before imprisonment in order to get commissary,” the officer interrupted. “It takes a couple of weeks to process everything.”

You nodded your head at him. 

“Yeah, I-I did that,” you said. “I sent the check there. So, so, I can’t buy anything now?” You directed your question to both the inmate and officer inside the cubicle.

“How it is,” Chang said. 

Beside her, officer Rogers gave you a warm smile.

Steve took a step forward, walking behind Chang to the shelf with the hygiene products, and grabbed a bottle of ‘rose blossom’ shampoo. He held out the bottle through the hatch, having to bend down slightly to reach. 

“We can make an exception this time.” His voice was laced with charming allure, his mouth turned up in an inviting smile. “Get that hair smelling as good as you look.” 

His smile spread wider, dimpling his cheeks.

You drew a shaky breath at the very suggesting comment, before your clammy hands reached for the bottle in his hand. You had thought he might hang on to it, or maybe pull it back behind the bars when you went to grab it, but he didn’t. He let you take it from him, slowly bringing his hand back through. 

You looked up at him, meeting his pleased gaze, and mimicked a smile. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“You’re welcome, Harper. Oh,” he started, turning around, and took a Twix bar from the shelf and handed it to you. “My treat,” he said with a wink. 

You gulped, your brows twitching together at the sight, hesitantly taking his offering. Yet again, you knew the rules of gratitude. 

“Th-thank you, sir,” you forced out. “That’s very kind.” 

When he didn’t say anything back, but instead just smiled at you, you took the opportunity to walk away without fearing any wrath, letting the line keep moving. You held the items close to your body, as if they were to be taken from you at any second. Quick feet marched you right out of there, turning the closest corner just to get away. 

Behind your back, Steve watched you hurrying away, biting his lip as he did. He made sure to even sound pleased at the sight of you walking away, sending a low, rumbling grunt your way. 

Because even though you couldn’t see it, didn’t mean the other inmates surrounding the cubicle were as blind. And Steve was more than aware of how fast rumors spread around this place. It wouldn’t take long for word to get out that you had a guard doing you favors and giving you treats. Something rarely done without getting anything in return. 

Appreciative compliments, a coy smile, sweets. Those things were only given by a guard getting some appreciation himself. And the inmates knew that as well as he did.  


This place alone would fuel the fire. All he had to do, was light the match. And watch you go up in flames. 

Turning another corner on the route back to your bunk, you sighed deeply to ease the tension working its way up your spine. No matter what you did, you couldn’t get the tightness of your muscles to ease up even a bit. Your body was constantly fighting the stress it was under. And officer Rogers toying with you wasn’t exactly helping in that department. 

You looked down at the Twix bar in your hand. Why had he done that? Why had he been nice to you, giving you free shampoo and extra treats? It didn’t sit right with you. It didn’t make any sense. Despite, of course, that he wanted your hair to smell like rose blossom. But it felt like there was some underlying reason for this drastic shift in demeanor as well. Whatever the reason, you did not trust the intentions. 

Up ahead you spotted Nicky turning a corner, coming your way. You also noticed how she caught your eye briefly, before quickly looking away, keeping to her side of the hallway. 

“Hey, Nicky,” you said, walking up in front of her. 

She stopped, but she was twisting and turning, like she was worried someone might see.

“Hey, there, Baby Blues,” she said without meeting your eye. 

You furrowed your brows together. 

“Is… Is there something wrong?” 

“No, uh… no more than what’s usually causing me stomachaches and the sweats in this place.” She threw you a glance and a smile, before turning serious. “But, uh… you take care.” 

She made to pass you and walk away, but you turned around to keep her attention. 

“Wa-wait! Nicky, what–” you looked around to see if anyone was in earshot, but no one seemed to be paying attention to the two of you. “–what’s going on? Are you okay?” 

She chuckled nervously in response, gripping her hair on and off. Now you were really worried.

“Yeah, yeah, I-I’m fine, kid. Alright? I’m just being threatened and baited by your fucking admirer telling me they’re gonna plant drugs on me, enticing me with my long-lost girlfriend Lady H, if I don’t stay the fuck away from you. So, there! That’s what’s going on. Enough? Huh?” 

You gasped, not knowing what to say, or what words to use. You gathered that they might try to hurt Nicky, officer Barnes had made that perfectly clear, but you didn’t think they had threatened her as well, and not in such horrid ways. A knot tightened in your stomach. 

“Nicky, I… I’m so sorry. Please, you gotta know I never wanted this to happen, I never wanted you to get caught in the crossfire.” 

She scoffed sadly, but hearing the hurt in your voice. 

“Yeah, well. They’re firing away so…” 

Shame flooded your mind. Everything was your fault. You should have kept your distance when you learned about Nate working at the prison. Then no one would have been hurt, or threatened. Least of all sweet Nicky. She had done nothing to deserve any of this, she was just being nice to you. But apparently that went against everything officer’s Rogers and Barnes had in mind for your stay. Of course, they saw reason enough to threaten her already. 

Nicky sighed. “Look, if it’s any consolation, I’m sorry you’re even in this shit to begin with, alright? But… I gotta look out for number one first, you know? And-and the rest of the family. It’s… We got a good thing going here, and I-I can’t risk this shit hitting the fan in their direction, you know?” 

With tears stinging your eyes, you nodded. You understood where she was coming from, but you couldn’t help but feel… you were fucked. 

Without her company, or anyone’s for that matter, you were utterly alone. No one to turn to, no one to confide in, or simply just be around to get time to pass. This was exactly what they wanted. 

“Yeah, I get it,” you said, forcing your mouth to turn somewhat upwards in a somewhat believable manner. 

You did get it. Really. You just wished you didn’t. 

Nicky sighed again, taking a step closer to you. 

“Look, kid. I’m deeply fucking sorry for leaving you alone in the wilderness that is this prison. I-It’s fucked up, you know? But hey, I’m sure things will die down. You know, eventually. And you’re still in my good graces, as well as Red’s. So, when things do cool off, you know where to find me. Okay? And don’t worry, they’re gonna find some new toy who’s chops they can bust, and, you know… let you off the hook. So you can swim with the big fishes, okay?” she said with a wide smile. “I mean, look at me. Am I a big fish or what? Ah?” 

Nicky gave a reassuring chuckle, bumping your arm in the process. 

You knew she was trying to lighten the mood, get the palpable tension to ease just a little as to not suffocate the both of you where you stood. She was scared. So were you. And you had every right to be. 

A newfound respect for the officers had surfaced. Not that you had had any doubts of their abilities to screw up your stay here in the first place, but this had made that worry skyrocket. Like in the engines-were-running, smoke-was-rising and the-shuttle-was-ready-to-deploy-kind of way. There were so many things they could do that you hadn’t thought of. And that said a lot, seeing that you weren’t exactly a naïve type of person to begin with. 

Nicky quieted down, looking at you apologetically.  


“I’ll see you around, kid,” she said. “I’m sorry.” 

She turned and walked away, leaving you standing in the hallway, with nothing but a bottle of shampoo and a Twix as company. 

Lost in thought, you walked the hallways back towards the dorm, where solitude and much needed rest before the night awaited. It was nothing new to you, to have people abandoning ship like rats before the sinking. It wasn’t like Nicky had been a real friend anyway, but with time you had hoped to get there. Still, her abandonment stung. 

A sense of security had gone with her. You knew it had been false, but the make-believe of a safe and secure environment was better than nothing, which was what you had now. 

Life on the outside had been both harder and easier in so many ways. There was the relief of hiding away behind locked doors, keeping a distance and simply following the rules in order not to get hurt more than necessary. 

But then there was the loud, screaming reject of the people and world around you at any call for help, which was louder than the reject of the people in here. At least in here people were honest in their selfishness.

You had bravely tried to get help a few times, telling people of what was going on, but you were never believed. Right from the get-go, Nate’s version was believed over yours, even by your mom, or even his dad Jared who must have known what type of man his son was. But he always managed to lie and weasel his way out of everything like the charming snake that he was. 

He had even made a show of fake apologizing for ‘whatever he had done to make you feel the need to set him up’, saying how sorry he was that you were feeling left out, but that it was no reason for hurting yourself. That had been the first warning bell for an approaching iceberg be ignored. So, no. It was nothing new. 

But you couldn’t help but feel just a glimmer of hope somewhere in there. There must be something you could do, or someone you could tell. And like an apparition in a dark, foggy night, there he was; Mr. Healy. 

He was sat by the desk in his office with the door ajar, typing something into the computer. He looked caught up in whatever it was that he was doing, not seeing you standing out there in the hallway like a planted statue. 

The list of pro’s and con’s emerged in your mind as quickly as the thought, weighing the risk with the reward. You decided to at least give it a try. He was their superior officer, after all.

You knocked gently on the wood of his door, beckoning his attention. He turned to you, tilting his head down to see over the reading glasses resting on his nose. 

“Harper,” he said with an inviting hand telling you to step inside, setting his glasses to the side. “What can I do for you?” 

You closed the door behind you, and sat down in one of the chairs facing the desk, items required resting in your lap. 

“Mr. Healy,” you started, nervously fidgeting the entire time. “I… I’ve come to inform you on some, uhm, poor behavior regarding some of your guards.” 

“Okay.” 

He didn’t seem too bothered by your words, leaning back more in his chair as you went on. 

“Okay. I know I’ve only been here a couple of days, but I’ve already been threatened and harassed by officers Rogers and Barnes. And officer Mendez! Though, he’s not really part of the bigger problem here, he’s just, kinda, playing along. M-my point is, Mr. Healy, that I don’t feel safe around these guards. I have been given shots for things I did not do, I have–”

“Let me stop you right there,” Healy interrupted. “It seems like you are forgetting where you are, miss Harper. This is prison. This is not a luxury hotel. These guards are not here to be at your beck and call whenever you please–”

“But–-” you tried to intervene, but he just talked over you.

“–They are here for your safety, to make sure that everything runs smoothly.”

“Yes, Mr. Healy, I hear you. But this is harassment.” 

He sighed. “Okay. You say you were given shots unfounded?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So you did in fact have your tag visible when CO Barnes gave you that shot?” 

Your brows furrowed as you searched for the words. 

“Well, no, but–-”

“Then it wasn’t unfounded, was it?” 

Healy raised his brows at you, awaiting your answer, but all he got was a sigh in response. And a grunt. 

“Okay, no, but there have been more infractions than that, sir,” you argued. 

“Okay, like what?” he asked, leaning forward onto his desk. 

“Last night, officer Rogers was watching me sleep. I woke up the second time he came in, and-and he told me that he was! And, he said that they would always be watching, and–”

“As is his job, Harper.”

“Yes, Mr. Healy, but it was the way he said it! And-and he also threatened–-”

“Okay, okay, I see where this is going,” Healy interrupted again, not letting you finish. “Harper, I get that being in prison is scary. Especially for you. We all know about what happened with officer Millers, and no, I’m not judging in any way. I don’t know what happened between the two of you, and it’s not my place–”

“Mr. Healy, please-–” you pleaded, but once again was shut down. 

“But I get it, okay? You think the other guards hold some sort of grudge against you, but I can assure you… they are all professionals and can set aside their own personal feelings when on the job. And being in prison means being watched by the officers in charge of your safety and well-being. Nothing they have reported to me about you has had any hostile intentions, okay? So, if them simply doing their job is not satisfactory for you... I don’t know what to tell you.” 

You grinded your teeth together, molars squeaking from the pressure. A deep sigh left you as you shook your head in disbelief. 

It was useless! He wasn’t listening to a word you were saying. He couldn’t even keep quiet long enough for you to actually get to the worser parts of their treatment. 

“I hear you, Mr. Healy,” you said in defeat. There was no point in even trying to hide the annoyance in your voice. “But I just think, that me being here, in this prison, is not the safest thing for me right now. Isn’t there any way of making it easier on everybody? Can’t you transfer me to another prison?” 

Healy chuckled at the question, leaning even closer to speak in, what he must have thought was a sweet, caring voice, but to you just sounded inferior. 

“Miss Harper, this is not the Radisson, where you are dissatisfied with your room and you want another one. We do not transfer inmates on request, especially not under these circumstances, or with these lacking justifications. You are just gonna have to accept your situation, and do your time here at Litchfield.”


	10. Chapter 10

Piles and piles of letters and mail covered the table of the mailroom. Papers and envelopes were scattered around, falling to the floor when the table was overcrowded. Bucky and Steve were put in charge of today’s mail check. It was supposed to be done before lunch, but for some reason officers Bell and O’Neill hadn’t done it, so it was left for the afternoon and some other available officers. 

“This is bullshit,” Bucky said with a sigh, throwing another approved letter in the pile. 

“Language,” Steve said, also tossing a letter in the pile for permitted letters. 

Bucky gave an aggravated sigh to show his annoyance at not only the letters, but Steve as well. 

“You know, we’re not in the army anymore. You’re not my captain here. So you can shove it.” 

He kept his composure for a quick second, before laughter rumbled through him, and his mouth strained in a wide grin. Steve couldn’t help but join in, laughing along. 

“Could have fooled me,” Steve said tenderly, reminiscing on their old glory days in the armed forces. 

They’d had a few good runs, neither one of them too traumatized afterwards. War wasn’t for everybody, but they seemed equipped enough to handle it, and they had. But they were glad it was over, both enjoying their days as correctional officers where the risk of getting killed had severely lessened. Especially in women’s federal. 

Bucky had already filled Steve in on his little talk with inmate Nichols, bringing him up to speed on everything before handing him the torch for the night. It was the routine now; anyone do or say anything involving or regarding their favourite inmate, they shared it, letting each other in on the current situation. Any planning or otherwise scheming fantasies were done at home, just to be on the safe side. Everything else was regular inmate observation, and included no risk in saying it out in the open. At least for the most part. 

“God, I hate checking the mail,” Bucky said with a grunt. “There’s never anything interesting.” 

“I second that,” Steve said after scanning over another letter. “I’m just hoping to find something for Harper.”

Bucky smiled, having had the same mission in mind. 

“Yeah, me too. But I doubt we’ll find anything this soon. It’s only been a couple of days.” 

Healy came walking in to get his mail from the slot with his name on it, a cup of coffee already in hand. He noted the other officers looking like two sourpusses stuck with the grunt work. 

“Ah,” he said, and grabbed his mail and started flicking through it. “If it isn’t the boys in blue.” 

Steve quirked an eyebrow.

“You know, we were in the army, not the police force,” he said. 

Healy threw a glance at them, before walking over, bringing both the cup and mail with him. 

“Yeah, well,” he said lightly. “You’re in blue now, though, aren’t ya?” 

He took a sip of his coffee, coming to a halt at the front of the table. 

Bucky simply forced a smile at the man, knowing how Healy worked. He didn’t like to be contradicted, and always looked like a kicked puppy whenever someone put him in his place. His was all bark and no bite, but he still loved to bark at the bigger dogs.

“How’s it coming along?” Healy asked, pointing at the mail with the pile of letters of his own. 

Steve sighed, but smiled as politely as Bucky. 

Steve had been offered the position as head of the guards after a few months of working at Litchfield, but turned it down since he wanted to be a foot soldier this time and not the man in charge. Plus, he had already earned the title of captain once. Had he taken it though, he would have been Healy’s superior. That perk he would not have minded, seeing the older man was as infuriating and ridiculous as they come. 

“It’s coming,” he said. “Slow but steady.” 

Healy nodded. “Good. That’s good.” 

A few seconds passed of Healy just standing there silently as the other men kept on opening and reading letters for the inmates. 

Bucky looked up at him. 

“Anything else?” he asked, as respectfully as the growing aggravation would allow. 

“No, I, uh,” Healy said. “I just... wanted to let you know that an inmate wanted to file an official complaint about the two of you, but, uh... I took care of it.” 

Both Steve and Bucky put their letters down a bit too forcefully on the table, and faced Healy, who was looking somewhat uneasy where he stood. 

“Who?” Bucky asked. 

“Yeah,” Steve seconded. “About what?” 

“Oh, it was... Harper said something about harassment and––”

“Harassment?” Steve interjected “We’ve been doing nothing but our job, I can assure you.”

“Yeah, I told her that, believe me,” Healy said with a soft chuckle, getting somewhat nervous of the provoked tone of Steve’s voice. “She’s just a bit spooked, is all. Prison can’t be easy.”

“Especially when you’ve murdered one of the guards, I bet,” Bucky said, face as set as stone. 

Healy nodded. 

“Yeah, well, that was... unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate?” Steve asked. “Healy, Millers is dead because of her.” 

“Well, no matter the circumstances, she’s under our care now,” Healy said, trying to bring it back to the subject and calm the situation. “I let her down easy. You know, let her know that you’re the good guys, that she has nothing to worry about. That sort of thing.” 

Steve nodded slowly, taking the information in. 

“Good,” he said. “’Cause if I’m honest, I’ve been kinda worried about her behaviour.” 

He gave Bucky a knowing look. If someone was going to look suspicious in Healy’s eyes, it wasn’t going to be them. You wanted to be tattletale? Well, three can play that game. 

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. “She’s been hanging around some bad people. I just hope she doesn’t get in with the wrong crowd.” 

Healy furrowed his brows together, setting his cup of coffee down on some letters and leaned his hands on the tabletop. 

“Who?” he asked. 

Steve and Bucky shared another look. Healy’s lesbian witch-hunt was infamous amongst the other guards, and he always took the bait, no matter how small. 

“Nichols,” Bucky said. “I’ve seen them getting friendly at lunch. Not too friendly, of course. Or else I would have intervened, but... Enough to make me think something might be going on when we’re not looking. I think it’s worth keeping an eye on her.” 

Healy mulled it over in his head. Of course. That’s why you were complaining about Rogers and Barnes harassing you. You were trying to get frisky with Nichols and they shut you down. No wonder you were harbouring some hard feelings for the men, wanting to get some distance from them.

“Oh, well,” he started. “I guess that explains it. Good job, Barnes. And Rogers, of course,” he said with a nod to acknowledge the other man. “You can never be too careful with all these lesbians running around. They’ll sink their hooks into anyone, innocent or not.” 

All men nodded in agreement. Although Bucky and Steve were just playing along. 

“Can never be too careful,” Steve said. “We’ll keep an eye on Harper, Healy. Make sure she doesn’t get in too much trouble. If anything should happen, we’ll take care of it.” 

Healy nodded with a smile, taking a calming sip of coffee, not caring about the stained circle left on the letters. He knew he had done right in defending his fellow officers against defamation from an inmate. 

“That’s good,” Healy said, still nodding. “If you need me, you know where to find me.” 

Both Bucky and Steve nodded, but said no more, letting Healy leave them in peace.  


Well, that went well. Just not for you. 

“So,” Steve said. “Little tattletale, isn’t she?” 

Bucky hummed loudly, trying to get the annoyance out of his voice. And failing miserably. 

“I told her to keep her mouth shut. Guess she just had to go running to Healy. What do you wanna do, Steve?” Bucky asked and looked over at Steve, who was absentmindedly running his fingers over his jaw. 

“I thought I wasn’t your captain anymore?” he sassed back, earning a grin from Bucky. 

“Punk,” he said without spite. “I was just askin’. Think we should just lay low and see what happens when word gets out about your little sidepiece, huh? Your little bootycall?” he teased. Neither men could keep a straight face at the nicknames, grinning wide like it was a competition. “Yeah, she really fucking deserves in now, doesn’t she? I wonder what she had to do to get a free candy bar, huh? Maybe she opens her mouth for more than just shit-talking? Snitching on everybody? Or maybe, during all those long nights, she gets lonely... and you’re there, looking all hot and bothered, and she just had to help a kind officer out, right? Maybe you got her in the CO bubble, on her knees, choking on that fat dick of yours for a piece of candy. What ya think? Am I getting close?” Bucky asked with a shit-eating grin that only he could muster.

They had speculated on what kind of tales and rumours the inmates would spread about you, hoping for something juicy, and not just suspected connections. Steve hoped he achieved that with his comment on your looks and whatnot. And twitter has nothing on prison when it comes to coverage, so the place should be buzzing already. 

“You’re an asshole, Buck,” Steve said, trying to sound authoritative, but the façade quickly crumbed into a grin yet again. 

“Ooh, now who has the potty mouth?” Bucky countered. “And here I thought you were like Private fucking Benjamin, handing out treats and all? Doing favours? And they call me the nice one.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I can be nice–” Steve grabbed a letter from the pile and hit Bucky over the head with it. “–when I want to. And what the hell do you know about how big my dick is, anyway?” Steve asked, turning back to the still unread letters covering the table. 

“Ha!” Bucky exclaimed, setting his hair back in place. “You forget how the army works already? You think a fella can keep his modesty in a room full of dudes, day in and day out, never being alone, never getting any privacy? Huh? Plus, did you forget we live together? Alright, I’ve seen your dick more times than I care to admit,” he said, and threw an envelope teasingly at Steve’s head, convincing a strand of blond hair to leave its perfectly coiffed position as it passed. 

Steve ducked and visibly blushed, his cheeks reddening like a boy caught with porn. 

“Yeah?” Steve said. “Right back at ya, pal. And you don’t even try to hide it.” 

Bucky chuckled at the comment, knowing how he was very much not a prude. Like he said, when being in the army you had little choice. 

Bucky hummed smilingly, dropping the subject. “Anyways, it’s not like we took this job because we’re so nice, now, did we?” 

Steve returned the smile. 

“I don’t think ‘nice’ is the first word that pops up for anyone when describing either one of us, do you?” 

“No, no. That would be ‘beefcake’,” Bucky said with a chuckle, earning a side-eye and a smirk from his friend. “I think that’s what Luscheck said when we first got here. At least that’s what he led with.” Steve scoffed. 

“And he called us gay.” 

Bucky also let out a puff of air. Luscheck was one to talk with a comment like that. 

“Yeah, well,” he said. “Maybe he’s overcompensating, who knows. Besides, who can resist a nice, rugged beefcake of an army man?” Bucky said, giving Steve feign heart eyes, making him laugh, before he himself followed suit.

“Not Jess,” Steve said with sarcastically raised eyebrows. 

Bucky laughed. “Evidently.” 

O.o.O.o.O

Great, so even your counsellor didn’t believe you. This was just dandy! You were stuck in a prison where the guards where on your ass, trying to make your life even more of a living hell, inmates weren’t allowed to be near you in any other way than proximity, and your counsellor told you that it was basically just your mind playing tricks on you, and that you were overreacting. 

You were sitting on the bed in your bunk, feet resting on the frame, eating a Twix out of spite. Every bite was filled with rage, but the sweet taste of chocolate was comforting none the less. Too bad it was going too fast. 

You were pissed at Mr. Healy for not even giving you the time of day, and you were honestly pissed at yourself for not leading with the bigger things. Maybe then he would have taken you seriously. But you severely doubted that. 

The ache in your chest grew tighter, comforting chocolate be damned. It was so painful to be speaking the truth and not be believed. Even more so to be belittled, and almost shamed for your fears and concerns. It didn’t seem to matter how much experience you had with it, the pain was never lessened when you, yet again, were silenced. 

People were talking and laughing and messing around in the dorm, making it impossible to lay down and get some shuteye, even though you very much needed it. Plus, your mind wasn’t really in a peaceful state so even if you could just take a time out of prison, you doubted it would be restful. 

Dinner was coming up in an hour or so, and the plan had been to sleep until then, then come back to the bunk and sleep some more until lights-out. But, for now, just sitting on your bed would have to suffice. There wasn’t much else to do, but bide your time.

“Stand for count!” was shouted from a male guard entering the dorm. 

You did as instructed, getting used to the rules and regiment of prison, and went to stand outside your cube along with all the other inmates. 

It was officer Barnes and O’Neill, both checking a side each, Barnes unsurprisingly picking your side. You prepared yourself, expecting leering eyes, a snide smirk or at the very least just a simple up-down. But what you got was a stone-cold look of disdain shot down at you from a very superior height, as he held his head even higher when passing you. Jeez, both guards were towers of muscles compared to you. Made you wish you hadn’t skipped gym so much in school. You couldn’t help but cower back just a little in his company. 

He passed with a click of the counter in his hand, making you jerk at the force of it. That earned you a lopsided smirk at least. Barnes walked on, passing to the other side of the dorm to continue his count in a much calmer manner. Both guards compared numbers before leaving. He didn’t look at you again, which was weird compared to all the other times when both officers tended to stare blatantly at you without shame, company be damned. 

“Thank you, ladies,” officer O’Neill said with a kind smile, and followed officer Barnes out the door. 

Strange, they usually lingered to throw another glance at you, but he didn’t. 

You went back to your bed and laying down to rest, seeing the dorm quieted down significantly after the guards’ visit. Most of the other inmates would roam the halls or wait in the rec room until dinner was served, so the dorm would allow for some rest soon. 

The look on officer Barnes’ face haunted you. It wouldn’t have worried you as much, if you hadn’t just talked to Healy about their behaviour. That weighing of the scales, on whether or not to tell Healy, may have tipped the wrong way in more ways than just not being taken seriously. Oh shit. This might come back to bite you in the ass with even sharper teeth than you had predicted. 

You swallowed, hands coming up to lay on your stomach for comfort. Anything to calm down. It did little to help. What did they know? The officer had seemed more than a little ticked off during the count. What had Healy said to him? If anything?

A loud scoff was heard from just outside your cube, breaking your train of thought. You looked over, seeing two inmates nodding at you whilst talking amongst themselves. You couldn’t hear what they where saying though, but their eyes were leering as much as the officer’s tended to. 

You didn’t recognize either of them in more than just passing, sharing a dorm and all. Both were blonde, lanky white girls. One had long cornrows and a very strange looking tattoo going down the length of her throat, the other one was paler looking, with long, greasy hair. 

“Ey, yo,” Cornrows said, calling your attention. 

You rose up on your elbows from the bed. 

“W-what, me?” you asked. 

“Yeah,” she said, taking a step closer to your cube. “Is it true you got free stuff from commissary?” 

“Uhm, yeah?” 

You sat up even more on the bed, ready should she try anything. So far only the guards had shown any aggression towards you, but that could easily change. 

“Who are you?”

She took yet another step closer. 

“Tricia Miller,” she said. “Yo, we were just wondering what, uh...” she leaned on the wall, speaking in a somewhat hushed tone. “What you had to do?” 

“What?” you asked, dumbfounded. 

Tricia sighed, annoyed. “Whose dick did you suck to get free stuff? I gotta spell that shit out to you?” 

Before you knew it, you were on your feet, eyes jumping all over the place like a lunatic, trying to makes sense of it all.

Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. This was why officer Rogers had given you those things. This was what he wanted. What they wanted. Did people think––?

“No, I-I...” you started, but didn’t know what to continue with. 

You walked up to her, causing her to lean back at the speed of your movement. You leaned a hand on the wall, crowding her where she stood on the other side. 

“I didn’t do anything for that. He just... gave it to me.” 

Tricia scoffed. “Yeah, right. I’m supposed to believe that? This is prison. Either you’re sucking his dick or fuckin’ him... or you’re selling us out.” She rose taller at the statement. “For what? A fucking bottle of shampoo and a candy bar?” she asked, her voice raised.

“What? No, no, no. It’s nothing like that,” you tried to convince her. 

She scoffed at you again, taking a step closer and into your bunk.

“Oh, no? Then why the fuck would a guard give you free shit?” 

You didn’t know what to say. You truly hadn’t done anything to get free stuff, no matter what she thought. And you definitely weren’t telling the guards anything about anyone. 

She waited patiently for an answer, crossing her thin arms across her small chest, but still she managed to look menacing. 

“I don’t know, I swear! I haven’t done anything to deserve any treats. M-maybe he was just being kind...?” 

You held up your hands to show you were not interested in a fight of any kind. 

She smiled mockingly at you. 

“That’s not how it works in prison, sweet cheeks. What the fuck did you tell him? You a fucking snitch?” 

Oh, shit, this was bad. 

“No, no, no, I’m not a snitch, I swear. I haven’t said anything to them. I don’t even have anything to say.” 

“Oh, really?” she asked sarcastically. “Then why the fuck do people say they’ve seen you talking to several of the guards? And now you’re getting free shit out of commissary? You think that’s all just a coincident, huh?” 

More inmates started to gather outside of your cube, watching intently at the scene unfolding. None of them looked concerned about you, more hesitant about the outcome of the snowballing argument. A tremble coursed through your body, tears were beginning to form behind your eyes as you tried to catch your breath and find a way out of this mess. His mess. 

“Please, I swear, I haven’t said anything to any guard about anyone. And I’m not messing around with any of them, I promise you that. I-I don’t know why... This is all a setup. Please, you gotta believe me. I don’t want any trouble.” 

Of course, you knew why they were doing it, but mentioning anything about Nate at this moment might just escalate the situation even worse. You did not need to become even more of a target than you already were.

Several moments passed in silence from Tricia, though people behind were heard scoffing and sighing and mumbling amongst themselves. It seemed like no one believed you. 

Tricia took a step closer, coming face to face with you. Her eyes were sharp, yours a watery mess. You wanted so bad to back away, to plead, to beg for them to believe you. Anything just to get out of this mile high pile of trouble. 

“You better watch your back, Harper,” she said, her voice clear-cut and left no room for argument. “In here... no one likes a snitch. Or a daddy’s girl screwing around for treats and favours. You got eyes on you, Harper. Step out of line, and you bet your ass there’s gonna be someone ready to beat it.” 

She took a step back, easing off. But everyone around the cube stayed put. All eyes were on you. 

Oh shit. What had you done?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Ridiculing and a short panic attack.

Looks. Dirty, hateful, searching looks. Around every corner, with every step you took, someone was there to give you a look. That I-know-what-you-did-look. But you didn’t do any of it. Of course, that didn’t seem to matter. 

If your first day had you looking spooked, it was nothing compared to now. Your shoulders were up to your ears, your hands holding your elbows in a makeshift protection barrier from the outside. Every fibre of your being was on alert. Everyone was looking. 

Some called you names. Slut, bitch, snitch. Anything they wanted based on whatever story they had heard. You had heard fragments of stories from people passing, not even realizing they were talking about you. Details here and there. 

So far, you had ‘fucked officer Rogers in the broom closet for the prize of a Snickers’ (it had clearly been a Twix but whatever). You had also ‘let officer Rogers piss on you in the shower’ (hence needing the nice smelling stuff which he so courteously gave). ‘Officer Barnes had fingered you for any intel on...’ what was her name? well, some inmate they allegedly wanted intel on. And you had apparently given it all to them. And let’s not forget about ‘blowing officer Luscheck in electrical’ for some unnamed reason. You had really gotten around in the few days you’d been locked up...

The prison was buzzing worse than a scourge of mosquitos on a barbeque night. It was like you had a spotlight on you wherever you turned. And the cafeteria was no exception. You were glad the prison held such a dense population, otherwise the cafeteria might have actually gone quiet at your arrival, like in the movies. But it didn’t. People were chatting away, staring and nodding at you as they did. You suspected they were sharing even more stories of your ‘romps’. 

You took your place in the food-line, keeping your distance from the inmates before you, hoping the ones behind you would show the same courtesy, which they did. No one wanted to be associated with a snitch and risk having all this shit come after them too. 

Gina stood behind the glass counter, hairnet and apron on, looking you dead in the eye with disgust written across her face. She had heard the rumours. Your face however, was scrunched up in hurt and fear, yet she failed to acknowledge it.

“Next,” she said and handed the tray meant for you, to the inmate next in line. 

Same with the following one. You looked to the other people standing behind the glass serving the food, but no one gave you the time of day, if it wasn’t to mutely scold you. 

You left the line without a tray, without food. You knew it was no point in arguing right then and there. If it didn’t work in your cube with only Tricia and the few other inmates around, it definetly wouldn’t work in a full cafeteria where volume was already a problem. 

You remembered what CO Barnes had said about you coming to the cafeteria at all times, unless instructed not to. You didn’t want to anger the man, so you searched for an empty seat, food tray or no food tray. You didn’t want to give anyone any reason to hurt you.

No one allowed you to sit at their table. Whenever you got close to an empty seat, someone would come around and steal it. You were not wanted, that much was clear. You stood there in between the tables, lost and unsure. You didn’t know where to go, or what to do, all you knew was that your body and mind were screaming for you to get the heck out of there as fast as humanly possible. But your experience told you otherwise. Follow the rules and you won’t get hurt. But at this moment, you had half a mind to let the guards rain hellfire on you, rather than stand there in the cafeteria like a prized heifer in front of all the other inmates. 

The few eyes that weren’t on you, were set on two officers in particular. Officer Barnes who was stood by the drink containers, watching the inmates as if he had no idea of what was causing such a fuss. 

Officer Rogers paced between the tables in orderly fashion, keeping an eye out, but apparently he was oblivious of how gazes were shot his way. At least what he let show. The other officer, CO Wilson, a tall, black man with a goatee, was stood on the far side of the room overlooking the food-line, honest in truth, not noticing anything out of the ordinary, or the looks he got. The cafeteria was always buzzing, this was nothing new. 

You looked over to CO Barnes where he stood, your eyes filled to the brim with tears that you begged didn’t fall right then and there. The fear and anxiety were slowly breaking you, seeping through your pores. He slowly met your gaze, a sly smile forming, as bright as day. You trembled, fighting to keep a whimper in just from a look. 

This is what they wanted; everyone had turned against you. You were on everyone’s radar, everyone had it out for you in one way or another. And the officer’s response to the sight of you, only seemed to fuel any rumour of guards taking a liking to you.

Wolf whistles echoed through the room, startling you where you stood frozen in place in the middle of the cafeteria. But officer Barnes just smiled wider, chuckling lowly under his breath. You were so god damn easy. 

Inmates were feigning moans and sex-noises at you, one even slapping your ass hard enough to hurt. You gasped and jumped from your spot with a squeal, making everyone shout and laugh at you. 

“Hey!” CO Wilson, who stood closest, yelled. “No touching.” 

The inmate in question, a shorthaired, tall, white woman, raised her eyebrows at him. 

“What? You gotta be an officer to get a piece of that ass?” 

The inmates laughed at her reply. You couldn’t help it; the first tear left its confinement. To hell with the officers.

You hurried past the closest tables, tears blurring your eyes but you didn’t care, you just wanted out of there. You failed to see the large chest coming up in front of you before it was too late, and you rammed straight into officer Rogers with an audible gasp at the impact. His hands were quick to come up and hold your upper arms, steadying you. But his grip wasn’t light, and it left no room for argument, or attempts to back away from him. The inmates immediately started ‘ooh-ing’ and ‘aah-ing’ at the sight. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said to you softly. “Take it easy.” 

You shivered from his touch, which had now turned into pretend-sweet caresses in a feigned attempt to calm you, but it only made you shudder with unease. Everyone was watching the officer touch you, comforting you. More fuel.

“I-I-I’m s-sorry, sir, I...” Your voice was pitched higher than you’d wanted to, stuttering all over the place. 

You tried to step to the side, but the officer held on to you, keeping you in place. His grip was tight, making you feel even smaller than you already were. He knew he was holding on hard enough to hurt.

He shushed you, circling his thumbs on your shoulders. Everyone was still intently watching, boring holes in your back. 

“It’s okay,” he said in his normal voice. “It’s okay, you’re not in trouble. You get out of here, and we’ll take care of it.” 

His voice was almost laced with honey from the smoothness of it, speaking loud enough so everyone could hear. You didn’t want them to take care of anything, let alone have everyone hear him say that they were going to. But you did however want to take him up on the offer to go, sooner rather than later. If only he would let you go.

But before he did, he bent down to whisper closer to your ear so no one else could hear the words, but everyone could see the intimacy of it. 

“Take that, you tattletale.” 

A broken whine fled past your lips at his crude words, your face scrunching up in an attempt to keep the sobbing down, just for a second longer. 

Officer Rogers smiled dearly at your cowering, then let you go and sending you off to wherever you were running to, smiling as he watched you go. 

You walked out of there as fast as you could, leaving the catcalling, name-calling and the array of food being thrown your way behind, hearing the guards telling the inmates off for messing up the place. 

You knew you couldn’t keep this in, you knew it all wanted to come out, and there was no stopping it. It was like a tornado warping through your body and mind, crushing and tearing as it went.

You ran through the halls, not caring if a guard saw you or gave you a shot for it, you just wanted out. Needed out. Your body slammed into the backdoor leading to the yard, the cold gust of wind out in the open making your body cramp up even more, the stiffness almost crippling. Your chest was aching with the strain to just breathe, your throat was burning from holding back tears. You just had to get away.

Once behind a shed far, far away from where everyone else was, you crumpled. Falling to your knees in the cold, damp grass, you hugged yourself, nails digging into the skin of your arms, scratching through the fabric of your shirt. Your entire body wrecked with sobs and desperate cries, your mouth open to draw mouthfuls of air into your lungs, only to wail them out again. 

“Fuck!” you screamed as loudly as your sore, burning throat would allow. 

You fell to your side, gripping a handful of grass and ripping it from the soil, dirt working its way under your nails. Everything hurt.

How could this happen? How could any of this happen? It was a fucking Twix! Why had you taken it? Why had you done what he said? You wished you could go back, then you’d just walked away, consequences be damned. Whatever the officers did to you was nothing compared to having the entire prison population against you, hating you. 

Everything came crumbling down, again. Every wall you had put up, every reassuring thought of making it out alive, unscathed, were gone. There was no way out, there was no way to hide from the pain. You were living in it. Right fucking in it. And no one knew the truth. No one would listen. You just wished someone would dare to listen. 

O.o.O.o.O

“You seemed pretty familiar with that new inmate at lunch, Rogers,” officer Sam Wilson said. 

The guards, Barnes included, were in the staffroom for a quick break after dinner, and before Bucky was due to end his shift. Steve was leaning against the sink with a shaker in his hand, this time salty caramel. 

“I was just teasing her, Sam. Relax,” he said to the man standing by his locker, digging through his bag. 

Bucky, who sat leaning back, balancing his chair on two legs with his own shaker of salty caramel in hand, smiled at the mentioning of you. 

“It’s just a bit of fun,” he added to Steve’s statement. “No harm no foul, right? Besides, weren’t all the inmates laughing?” 

“That’s not the point,” Sam said, somewhat annoyed. 

Steve looked over at him, not too happy about his tone. 

“What’s the big deal, Wilson?” he asked. “She deserves a lot more than that considering what she’s done.”

“What she’s done?” Sam questioned and turned towards his fellow officer. “We don’t know what she has done. I saw the News stories, okay? I followed the trial. There was not enough evidence to decide whether or not it was self-defence or a homicide. She had the entire police force against her, persuading the judge of her guilt, for all we know.” 

Bucky scoffed, dumfounded at the silly statement, setting his chair down on all four legs again and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

“They didn’t need to persuade shit, Wilson. Millers got stabbed seventeen fucking times. It’s clear as fucking day that she did it and meant to do it. And if Millers were here to speak his part, I’ll bet you he’d agree.” 

Bucky knew it was a snarky comment, but he didn’t care. He was staring Wilson down, daring him to push.

“That’s your opinion,” Sam said to Bucky, before turning back to Steve, who was still standing firm by the sink, ankles crossed over one another, looking as relaxed as ever. “And my opinion is that you shouldn’t escalate shit with the inmates. It brings the rest of us nothing but trouble.”

Sam had half expected Steve to be the one to get agitated by that, but it was Bucky who stood from his chair and walked straight over to him, and placing both hands on his hips, effectively blocking Sam in between his body and the locker. Sam wasn’t much smaller than Bucky, but he held little to no experience in combat, other than what was provided by the D.O.C. He knew better than to piss of an army man with ten years under his belt.

“What are you saying, huh?” Bucky asked. “That we’re not good at our jobs?”

“Bucky...” Steve said, but whether it was said in warning or in an attempt to calm the man, Sam was unsure of. Never the less, Bucky ignored him. 

“Just because you’re shit at your job, doesn’t mean the rest of us are,” he continued, coming closer and closer to Sam’s face, which was starting to falter. “Just because you’re afraid of inmates getting out of control from a fucking joke, doesn’t mean we have to be. If you’d seen even half the shit we’ve seen, you wouldn’t get riled up from a joke in a fucking cafeteria. Alright? We can handle unruly inmates. They are federal inmates in a minimum-security unit, Wilson. Take it easy, alright? So just keep your mouth shut, and back. The fuck. Off.” 

Bucky stayed where he was just a second or so longer, just to make sure Wilson got the point, before he eased back and sat back down in his chair, downing several huge gulps of his shake. He kept his eyes on Sam, who was looking somewhat apprehensive after the confrontation. 

Steve, who had stood silently by during the whole ordeal, notice the tension in his friend’s shoulders from the altercation. He was like a bow being tightened, and whoever got hit with the arrow, would bleed for days. 

“Alright,” Steve said, breaking the tension. “If we’ve all gotten that out of our system, we should all get back to work.” 

Sam threw him a glance, a mix between grateful and uneasy. 

“Yeah,” he said anyway, looking over at Bucky and getting the full heat of his temper shining through his eyes. 

He said no more, slammed his locker shut, and walked out of the room to start his rounds. 

“Fucking piece of shit,” Bucky muttered through gritted teeth under his breath once Sam had left. 

He sighed heavily, looking up at Steve who was simply waiting for him to get a hold of himself again. Steve had seen every part of his friend, and knew the ins and outs of his entity. He’d seen this side of him many times, and knew to take his time.

“Better?” Steve asked when Bucky’s brows relaxed into his forehead again, lines smoothening out. 

“Yeah,” Bucky said with another sigh, and got up to lean heavily on the sink right next to Steve, rinsing the shaker out. “Just fed up with people talking shit. First Harper, then Healy, and now Wilson. Can’t people just shut the fuck up for once?” 

Steve chuckled at the comment, but he made sure to do it in an agreeing way, as to not set Bucky off again should he felt ridiculed. 

“I hear ya, Buck,” he said. “But you gotta admit, it’s kinda fun to watch things unravel. Don’t you think?” 

A second passed, then a puff of air fell from Bucky’s lips as they turned upwards in a smile. 

“See the way she crumbled?” he asked. Steve nodded. 

“You should have heard the sound she made,” Steve said with a grunt. “Like a lost kitten. God, I can’t wait to hear it again.” 

Bucky scoffed. “Oh, yeah? Any plans for tonight?” 

Steve thought about it for a second, raising his eyebrows in contemplation. 

“Nah, might let her rest tonight.” 

“Yeah, like she’s gonna get a second’s rest with you hounding her and breathing down her neck.” 

Steve faked a hurt look at his friend.

“When do I ever hound? I’m a gentleman, Bucky.” 

Bucky burst into laughter, mockingly forcing his voice higher than it usually was, earning a friendly punch to the arm. 

“Might be missing the gentle part, though,” Bucky said with a knowing smile and a gleam in his eyes. “Thin walls, my friend. Thin walls.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Abuse and blood. Read at your own risk.

The panic hadn’t left your body, not really, but your tears had dried and your body was drained, so nothing else would come out. Once you could physically control your body again, and actually move your limbs, you had made your way back to the dorm and to your awaiting bed beckoning another sleepless night. Inmates had glared at you, shoulder-checked you once or twice in passing with a scoff to follow, but other than that you had been left alone. Your shoulder was starting to bruise though, but that was nothing new. You could handle pain, you could mask it and make it seem like it had never infested your body in the first place. You were good at that. You’d done it before. 

As you sat in your bunk, you couldn’t help but feel everyone’s eyes on you whenever they passed the doorway. You were too afraid to even lie back and get that much needed rest that you so desperately craved. Everyone seemed to be gunning for you. Threats of shivs, smothering, beatings or other torments seemed as real as ever. You no longer had the luxury (yes, luxury) of just having the officers to look out for. Now it was every single inmate in the prison as far as you knew. Gina still hadn’t shown, but you doubted she would be kind minded towards you. She certainly didn’t seem it in the cafeteria. 

You had seen several prison shows and documentaries on tv, and knew more than you wanted about what could happen to a snitch, despite not even being one. The way these inmates could treat you was rough. And they could be surprisingly resourceful.

How could you prove your innocence to them? How do you prove that something didn’t happen? It was hard enough when people saw only what they wanted to see, but even more so when it was all setup by the guards, set in place to keep you safe and protected. They wanted you to suffer, they wanted you to be scared. Well, they got what they wanted, because you were terrified. 

“Count time!” was yelled from the door to the dorm, the voice familiar. 

You drew a big, deep breath to prepare yourself. Officer Rogers. 

You did what you knew to do; stood by the wall to your cube and waited to be counted. Your eyes were down the entire time. You didn’t look at anyone, guard or inmate. Though you were painfully aware of every little movement close to you. 

Steve spotted your hunched form standing obediently by the wall. You looked tired, drained. He couldn’t help but smile to himself, just a little, before going about his duty of counting heads. When he closed in on you, he made sure to walk just a little slower, just a little closer. 

The officer almost came to a stop before you. You suspected that he was looking down at you with some sort of twisted expression on his face, but you couldn’t bring yourself to confirm it. Instead, you turned your head to the side, hoping he would just pass. He did, eventually, but his steps seemed awfully slow. 

You felt several sets of eyes on you, staring at you, considering the officer seemed pretty interested in you when making the count. You just hoped no one would say anything, but of course not. 

“Maybe you should pat her down.” 

You didn’t see who said it, but it sounded like and came from Tricia’s direction. The other inmates snickered at the comment, and Tricia herself raised a brow at you, smirking as she did. You just closed your eyes, willing that growing lump in your throat not to choke you, and waited to see what happened. 

Officer Rogers stopped in his tracks, looking over at Tricia standing just a few feet from him. So it was her that said it. 

“Need help shutting that mouth?” he threatened. 

She immediately averted her eyes. 

“No, sir,” she said, looking at the floor and scuffing her foot. 

The officer walked on, ignoring her remark any further. 

The officers checked their numbers at the door, and this time Rogers looked back over to you before leaving with a smile. His attention was very much unwanted, and he knew it. But he enjoyed your pain too much not to gloat. 

You hurried back to your bunk, sitting on top of the blanket with your legs criss-crossed. Everyone else were getting ready for bed, but you had no desire to share the very secluded bathroom with other inmates at this point in time. Nor where you planning on getting any sleep so you could simply wait and go do your business when everyone else were gone. You were allowed in the bathroom until midnight, so you had a few hours. 

Steve took his place in the CO bubble in the B-dorm, overlooking the room through the windows. He wished that you didn’t reside on the side with the high divider, but hey, can’t have everything here in life. Instead he patiently waited for the time when you would eventually take your turn to go to the bathroom, and unquestionably noticing him sitting there in the bubble, watching you. It made the hours spent just sitting there in solitude a lot more bearable. 

Nightshifts weren’t all that fun to begin with. There were only a few COs present, and only a few inmates awake, most of which were stuck with janitorial duty and spent their time cleaning the hallways and whatnot. It was real grunt work, and the D.O.C used it as a punishment for bad behaviour. Few inmates actually liked the cleaning crew, so most knew to keep in check, lest be stuck with mopping the corridors up and down all night. 

Steve was in charge of the dorms and the connecting hallways during the night, which was the most stimulating of the options. CO Donaldson minded the intake and entryway, and CO Bell walked the perimeter and surrounding buildings. The areas were restricted during the night, to help the COs keep an eye on the working inmates, so all Steve had to do was go about his normal rounds when the time came. Right now, it was a waiting game.  


The dorm quieted down. You couldn’t see anyone moving so you figured they had all gone to bed. Gina had come in late, not even sparing you a look when she did. She’d simply gone about her business and gone to bed, her back turned defiantly towards you. 

You stood up from the bed and tiptoed your way to your locker, careful not to make too much noise and aggravate someone. You grabbed your toiletries and toilet paper and headed for the door. And there he was, just a layer of glass between you. He sat leaning back comfortably in his chair, gently biting his lip, with his eyes narrowed like he was stalking pray. Which, in some way, he was. 

You stopped in your tracks, like mesmerized by the Adonis of a man looking at you like you were a meal to be consumed. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. He was waiting for you. You didn’t know what to do, it was like your body had lost all its bones and its ability to move. But slowly your feet started to shuffle past, only his eyes following you as you did. 

It was worth it. That startled look on your face was worth every second of it. Steve chuckled lowly to himself where he sat, his chest vibrating against the back of his worn chair. He could see the wetness of your eyes forming, almost mirroring his own gleam, but without the clear joy that he felt. He just wanted to twist that knife as much as he could, no pun intended. Well, maybe a little intended. 

Your footsteps echoed in the hallway like a haunting shadow following you. You turned around several times, expecting to see the officer following you, but he never came. There was the slightest risk that he would be checking the bathroom whilst you were in it, seeing no female COs were around and that was allowed, so you went about your business at lightning speed. He never showed. 

Sadly, the same couldn’t be said on the way back. You turned a corner and there he was. He was standing by the door to your dorm, feet planted shoulder width apart and strong hands resting just a little too close to the weapons secured on his belt. He spotted you and smiled. You only gulped in response. Your feet were carrying you closer by the second, no matter how much you wanted to fight it. Damn you, feet! Why must you work right now?

Steve gave you a smile of all teeth when you drew near. You tried to keep your eyes down, but you feared missing an incoming swing should you avert your eyes too much. It was hard to find a comfortable medium between ‘not staring’ and ‘closing your eyes for dear life and hope for the best’. 

“Last one in?” Steve asked, causing you to flinch when he spoke out of nowhere. You heard him snort at your reaction. 

“Y-yes, sir,” you said, figuring he was talking about the bathroom. 

If the officers hadn’t set you up with all the other inmates, you’d almost have him pegged as just being in a chatty mood. But this man never had any cordial intentions, that you had learned by now. 

Steve watched you intently, still smiling down at your dodging figure where you stood all but rooted to the spot before him, eyes darting towards the door in a silent request. He hadn’t said anything else, but your obedience never faltered it would seem. One remark, one demand and you were jumping like you were asked to, like a good little show horse. 

“C-can I––” you started, but the question was left hanging in the air as he abruptly interrupted you.

“No,” he said firmly, making you recoil another inch or so before scolding yourself for the slip. 

So you stood there. Waiting. Waiting for the officer to look away from you, to get that stupid smile off his face and just let you pass. But he didn’t. He just stood there, comfortably, beside you. 

He kind of wanted to see how this would play out, how long you would stay standing there in silence before daring to ask again. He watched you squirm under his gaze, your eyes becoming wetter and glazing over whilst his own smile just spread wider and wider. 

“Go on,” he said lightly, nodding his head towards the door. 

You looked up at him, as if to reassure yourself that he had in fact granted you permission to leave, before a shaky hand reached for the doorknob. Every movement was slow and sluggish, as you willed your body to do what it was told; to get the fuck out of there while you had the chance. 

As you went to step through, officer Rogers followed on your tail, staying close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off of him. You drew a shaky breath to steady yourself, but your feet were still moving slow, too slow. The officer took a big, rapid step into your space, his chest ramming into your back and almost sending you flying with the force of it. 

“Ugh!” You caught yourself before you fell, tightly hugging the toiletries to your body to keep them from falling as well. 

You heard him snicker behind your back, laughing at your fumbling.  


“Move along, inmate,” he said and passed you to go back to the bubble, making sure his arm hit your shoulder painfully hard as he did. 

You hissed at the harsh contact, and his time the items slipped from your hands and fell to the ground with a clatter. You knelt down quickly, as if trying to hush everything and not waking any of the sleeping inmates. 

“Shut the fuck up!” someone yelled.

“Quiet!” someone else spat out. 

You looked up at the mountain of a man standing in front of you with his hands on his hips, and a ghosting smile on his lips. You blinked away tears threatening to fall from the bubbling anxiety in your chest, quickly picking up your things again and holding them safely to your chest in disorder and stood back up. The officer just watched you in silence, but his eyes spoke loudly of entertainment. He enjoyed watching you squirm under his gaze and presence, it was thrilling. 

“Back in your bunk, inmate,” he said strictly. “Inmates aren’t allowed out of their bunks between midnight and 5 am. That’s a shot, Harper.” 

What? But you weren’t–– Oh shoot. You looked up at the clock above the bubble and saw that it was now two minutes past midnight, and that you were, in fact, not allowed out of your bunk at this hour. 

You swallowed the words of argument down, he knew damn good and well that he had intentionally made you late, and looked apologetically at the officer, as expected. 

“Yes, sir.” 

This time he let you pass without any fuss. You went back to your bed, and he went back inside the bubble to keep watch before he once again had to go about his checks. 

You tucked your things away in your locker again, and changed into the sweats you’d been given to get some relief from the stale khakis. You kept an ear out for any signs or tells of the officer coming back for a check, as you quickly changed and sat on the bed to await his next visit. Every time he came through, he just looked at you adoringly with a smile on his face, but nothing more. He just counted heads, made sure no one was out of their bed or out of bounds, and repeated. Never once did he say a word to you, never once did he linger like you’d thought. And never once did you relax.

The morning seemed to move in rapid speed within a slow-motion sequence. Whenever you thought you were ahead of time you were in fact slacking. And whenever you thought you were slacking, you were early. Everything passed in a haze of some kind. The sleepy kind, you gathered from your, you guessed it, lack of sleep. Being sleep deprived was its own kind of hell.

Officer Rogers had left sometime before breakfast, being replaced by CO Maxwell who went about the checks just before the sun rose. Sadly, it didn’t leave you enough time to get any sleep before the radio started playing its slow tunes, and the other inmates began to stir. Instead you had gotten up, gotten cleaned up as best as the sink would allow and gone about your business before all the stalls were taken, which was a small window. You changed back into the not so inviting khakis, putting layer on layer before removing the first ones, and headed for the cafeteria, hoping to be early and maybe be given a tray of food this time. But alas, no such luck found you today. What found you was burning eyes and resting bitchfaces, telling you to ‘fuck off’.

Officer Barnes wasn’t guarding the cafeteria, so you skipped the sitting down and being humiliated part as well, opting for an early start in electrical instead. 

Luscheck wasn’t there yet, nor had you thought that he would be. Still, you grabbed your book and your lamp and began what work could be done without the tools locked away. No much you would learn. But hey, it was better than being stared at in the cafeteria, risking food being thrown at you, or someone tripping you up. At least here you were alone. Alone with your thoughts that desperately scratched away at the inside of your mind, begging for attention. You knew better than to open that door. Not today, panic. Not today. 

The door opened, and Luscheck was the first in, followed by a few inmates, none of which gave you the time of day, but just sat down at their assigned seats and waited for the day to start. Luscheck raised his brows when he saw you. 

“You’re early,” he stated. Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. 

“I was up,” you said instead. More polite. 

“Okay,” he said drawn out, and walked up to you. “Since you’re so eager to work, you can go down to the laundry, there’s a machine broken. Martha, Maddy, or whatever, I can’t keep track of all the weird-ass names. Here’s the workorder, take it with you.” 

He handed you a piece of paper, then grabbed a utility belt from a hook on the wall and pushed it at you. 

“W-what do I have to do?” you asked and took the belt with hesitant hands. 

Electrical work wasn’t your forte you had learned early on. He was basically asking you to climb Everest in flip-flops. 

Luscheck sighed. “Make it not broken.” 

You went down to the laundry, with the oversized belt hanging from your waist and the form in hand, silence greeting you when you got there. The inmates already there did not acknowledge your presence, and they had yet to start up any of the machines so it was dead like the grave. One inmate looked up at you, you recognized her as the girl who was standing behind Tricia when she got all up in your face. You’d named her Grease Hair in your head. She gave you a dirty look and walked out, the other two following suit, making sure to bump into you when passing. Hard. Apparently, they didn’t even want to be in the same room as you. You rubbed your shoulder to ease the pain. Well, no one was getting their laundry today, that much was certain. Because there was no way you would actually be able to fix a washing machine, and if they refused to work with you there? Well, tough luck to anyone needing a change of pants today. 

You found the broken appliance, the control panel was hanging off of it so it was a no-brainer. You opened the instruction manual that was laying on top of it (handy), finding the right page after a few flicks. It made zero sense. It could might as well have been Chinese for all you cared, there was nothing sane about any of the instructions. And you couldn’t figure out if the machine was correctly earthed or not to save your life, which was the first thing on the checklist. 

You decided to start checking wires instead, carefully, finding one not attached. Could that be it? You placed it where it looked like it belonged, and that did... nothing. Okay, problem not fixed. 

You were too caught up in your own head to hear anyone come into the room. You didn’t see or hear him, but you felt him, when you went to take a step back and finding that you couldn’t. With a startled gasp, you turned around, coming face to face with officer Barnes, standing way too close for comfort. You gripped the opening of the washer behind you to keep yourself steady, almost tripping when you turned. 

“Morning, Harper,” he said cheerily, smiling at you, arms crossed over his chest. 

You swallowed the lump that seemed to have taken up residency in your throat, trying to calm your stuttering heart. 

“G-good morning, sir,” you said, but it came out more like a question than anything else. 

“Can I see your work form?” 

“Oh,” escaped you before you could stop it, swiftly shutting your mouth with a click to keep anything else from blurting out. 

You reached for the piece of paper laying on the table closest where you had discarded it so you wouldn’t lose it, and handed it to the officer. His eyes skimmed over it, seemingly reading absolutely every word written on there, and not just the parts written in pen. The silence was growing heavy, and you fidgety. 

He put it back on the table, then crossing his arms again with a sigh. 

“Do you know how to fix the machine?” he asked, sounding more annoyed now than cheery. You liked it better when he was cheery. 

“Uhm... no,” you said, bowing your head down with a frown. “Not really.” 

“Then why did Luscheck send you?” 

You cringed at the harshness of his tone, wanting to back away but couldn’t because the stupid door of the machine was open. 

“I-I don’t know, I was the first one in so––”

“Yeah, well, maybe he should have sent someone who was actually competent.” 

You kept your head down, not meeting his gaze. You knew you couldn’t fix the dumb machine, but what did he expect? Was everyone an expert at their jobs around here? Like you were the only one not knowing how to do something. 

The officer looked around the empty room, sighing. 

“Where is everyone?” he asked. 

“They left,” you said, voice low. 

“Why? Did you tell them to leave?” He sounded almost angry with you. 

“No, sir,” you said, voice still hushed. “T-they left when I came in. They didn’t w-want to be around me, I guess.” 

Bucky couldn’t hold back the smile that was fighting to spread, smiling as he looked down at you, cowering, afraid. Weak. 

“Yeah, I bet,” he said laughingly. 

You cringed at his tone again, not wanting to be reminded of the fact that it had been the officers to set everything in motion in the first place. The officer smiled, looking at you like he was searching for details he might have missed, almost like he was examining your face. 

“I didn’t see you in the cafeteria this morning.” 

Oh, shit. Had he been there after all? Had he just come in late? Oh, no, not good.

“N-no, I-I... I went there, b-but...” You inhaled to calm yourself before speaking low. “They’re not letting me eat.” 

You kept your eyes down, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt, hearing him snort at you. 

“Really?” His voice was laced with amusement, before it turned serious again. “Well, still no reason to disobey a direct order, now, is it?” He bent his head down closer to you, invading your space. “Did I not tell you to come to the cafeteria no matter what?” 

He waited as you searched for your words, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Y-yes, sir. An-and technically I-I did, but––Agh!” 

You didn’t get the chance to finish arguing your case, interrupted as a searing pain shot through your head. The officer had grabbed a hold of your hair and slammed you face first against the opening of the washer with a loud thud. 

You fell to your knees hard, hands instantly coming up to cradle your hurting head, and coming back stained with blood. You felt a cut right above your eyebrow where the sharp edge had pierced it in an almost perfect vertical line. You hissed and groaned where you sat hunched over, disoriented from the impact. 

Bucky breathed heavily, drawing mouthfuls of air just to calm himself down again. Boy, had it felt good to finally hurt you. To see you on your knees, whimpering in pain. The adrenaline was rushing through him, heartbeat thrumming loudly in his ears. He grabbed you by the collar of the shirt to pull you up on your feet again, and slammed you up against the side of the machine. Blood trickled down from your brow to your cheek, your eye twitching in pain. 

Whimpers and whines left you uncontrollably as you were manhandled, quickly grabbing a hold of his arms and hands to try and pry him off, but he wouldn’t budge. It was like trying to move steel bars holding you in place. You stopped your efforts, submitting to pleas. 

“Please, no, please! I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please––”

“Shut the fuck up!” he said harshly and slammed you back against the washer again, keeping his voice somewhat down as to not draw attention from anyone who might be passing. You were hidden behind the wall of machines, but still. "I don’t wanna hear another goddamn word out of you, do you understand?” The question was rhetorical but you nodded frantically none the less, hoping to appease the man, not caring about the drops of blood splattering on the floor. “When I tell you to do something you better fucking do it, no question! I don’t care if any of the inmates give you shit about it. You better fucking fear _us_ , ‘cause there is no way any of these inmates can do worse than me or Steve, you hear me?” 

Again, you nodded, even though it was redundant in this situation. The man was clearly in a state of anger nothing could penetrate, pleas or replies alike. 

Bucky snarled, drawing a tear from your eye as he did. His hands were almost cramping from their firm hold of your shirt, keeping you upright, but he couldn’t find the will to let go. He felt your trembling, heard your teeth rattling from the quiver of your jaw. 

“Good girl,” he said as you stayed compliant. The cut above your eye drew his attention, and he nodded to it. “That’s just the beginning of it, sweetheart. I can promise you that. Think we’ve been hard on you? We haven’t even begun.” 

With that, he pushed off you, barely giving you a chance to catch yourself but you managed to stay upright. 

"Ugh!" 

Gasps were falling from your mouth uncontrollably, trying to calm yourself but finding it impossible still in his presence. You didn’t dare to move. He hadn’t told you that you could move. 

The officer kept his sharp eyes set on you, just staring, not saying a word. You held his gaze for a moment, shuddering and shaking as you did, before realizing he was probably waiting for you to avert your eyes and... submit. So you did. He smiled triumphantly. 

He started walking away from you, most likely busy with a primary engagement before detouring to the laundry to mess with you. But before he left, he turned back towards you, earning a flinch as you tried to gain some space, leaning against the washer for support. Your knees were threatening to give out at any moment, and you eagerly wanted to let them. 

“And keep your mouth shut to Healy. You don’t wanna make things even worse for yourself, do you?” 

You shook your head violently, stopping as the pain spiked again. 

“N-no, sir,” you let out in a breath. 

Bucky smiled even wider, if that was possible. “Atta girl.”

With that, he finally turned the corner and walked out. It didn't even take a second for you to collapse into a sobbing heap on the floor, shaking and crying.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter for all my hungry readers! Please leave a comment down below and spare me a thought or two, I love hearing from you :)
> 
> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> More assault and blood, read at your own risk. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Blood splattered onto the porcelain, staining the cracked ivory with a blushing red. You rinsed the cut out in the sink in the somewhat quiet bathroom, dabbing it with damp pieces of paper to clean it. It stopped bleeding after a while, but the headache remained. The gash wasn’t too wide, you wouldn’t need stitches at least, so that was a relief. No way where you going to go down to medical for a small cut and a growing bruise, which was undoubtedly going to go through the entire Pride flag in colour before healing. 

You met your reflection. Nothing you hadn’t seen before, but still, the haunting look of pain in your eyes was always a tough pill to swallow. You hated seeing yourself like this; hurt, bruised and broken. ‘We haven’t even begun’. His words echoed in your mind, occupying all the space, hollowing you of anything other than fear and pain. There was no room left for anything else, just the comfort of familiar darkness. You knew how to live in this, how to survive in the drowning flood of suffering. You’d thought the death of your stepbrother had saved you from its swallowing depths, but now you were right back in it. Right. Fucking. In. It. 

“Looks like someone got what was coming for them.” 

Startled back into the present, you looked behind you through the reflection of the mirror and found Grease Hair looking at you from the doorway with a smirk, revealing her snaggly Gargamel teeth. You looked down, not wanting to be bothered, hearing how she snorted at your lack of response. 

“What?” she said. “You only talk to COs?” 

She came up and put her toilet paper and whatnot by the sink, checking her own reflection. How the mirror didn’t break was a mystery. 

“I don’t talk to COs,” you said. 

It came out slightly aggressive but you couldn’t care less. 

She scoffed. “Yeah, right. Like we all don’t know how you let officer Rogers fuck you for treats. What? You some kind of pornstar or something?” 

“What? No.” 

“Oh, so you just manage to get one of the most handsome guards to fuck you, and risking his own, just because you’re, what? So fuckable? Please.”

Anger flared up, you couldn’t help it. You were almost vibrating with overrunning emotions, something was bound to surface. You turned to face her.

“Look, I don’t know what kind of twisted stories everyone’s been spreading about me, but I haven’t had sex with, or sucked off, or let any of the guards finger me for shit. I’m not that kind of girl, okay? It’s all bullshit.” 

It came out a little meek but the anger persevered through your tone at least. You weren’t used to standing your ground, it never served you any good so you had very little practice in actually biting back. 

Grease Hair turned her body towards you, amused by your outburst. 

“So what? You’re a dyke?”

“Are those the options? Fuck a guard or an inmate? People can get through life, and prison, without the need to hump the first person they see, you know. It’s called self-restraint, look it up. If you can read.” 

You forcefully shut off the faucet, grabbed the remainder of the toilet roll, and turned to leave. She didn’t say anything else, only snorting at your irate state, letting you storm out with what little power you had gained.

God, you hated being seen as a slut, or like the very haunting reminder on your body read; a whore. You weren’t interested in any man, and would never let another man touch you in your life if you could help it. So to be ridiculed and shamed like that just pushed you one step too far. 

It had felt good to let off some of the steam that had been building up underneath, but whether it was wise or not was still unclear. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to piss off other inmates when they already had plenty of ‘reason’ so hate you, and you weren’t the only two in the bathroom. But, like they say; in for a penny, in for a pound. It didn’t matter that it hadn’t been you who put that penny in the pot in the first place. Officer Rogers, Steve you’d learned, had gladly thrown that penny in there. Whether you wanted to or not, you were stuck in the game now. And like officer Barnes had so kindly pointed out; the inmates weren’t your biggest problem.

O.o.O.o.O

“Can’t I do it?” Bucky asked Steve with a gleam, as they patrolled the yard in the afternoon. 

Bucky had been assigned to watch the yard since lunch before Steve joined him in the early afternoon, so he hadn’t seen you all day. He had zero doubts of your attendance in the cafeteria though, not after his little reminder this morning in the laundry room. He relived the moment in his head over and over.

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” Steve said. 

Bucky shouldn’t complain. Steve had yet to see you today, the only juicy thing he’d gotten was Bucky telling him every single detail of hiw own encounter. It made him feel like he should have been rougher with you last night, and not just given you a nudge. This was his time to get his hands dirty. 

“You’ve already had your chance, now it’s my turn,” he said, earning what could only be described as a pout from Bucky. 

“What? I thought we were gonna share. Not in a sharing mood, huh, Stevie?” 

Bucky nudged his friend with his shoulder as they continued walking the perimeter, managing to get at least a huff of a smile out of the man. 

“We are sharing, but you grabbed a hell of a big piece already. I only pushed her, you drew blood. This is my time.” 

Bucky laughed loudly. “Someone’s pouting. Alright, how ‘bout this? We both do the search, but you get to rough her up a bit? Come on, Steve. You know we have to hand her over, we’re not gonna see her for a while. And you had all night to mess with her, it’s not my fault you didn’t do more. You can’t shut me out on this.” 

Steve contemplated what he said, knowing deep down that Bucky was right. It wasn’t fair of him to try and hog you when it was the last chance to get to you for a while. Bucky was still working for a few days before Steve was coming back to the dayshift, and he had been nice enough to promise not to visit you in the meantime. 

“Alright, we’ll see how it plays out,” Steve said after a while with a sigh. “But I cuff her.” 

Bucky grinned. Apparently not even having you all to himself during the entire night had quenched Steve’s thirst. He had the chance to mess with you all he wanted, it wasn’t Bucky’s fault that he hadn’t seized the opportunity. But he could give him this win. It was only fair.

“Fair enough,” he said, knowing he might not even get the chance to mess up your bunk, but it was better to live off of hope than nothing at all. “Go easy on her though. Can’t get too rough in front of the entire gen pop.”

Steve gave an irritated sigh. He hated when Bucky spoke to him like he was a child. 

“I know, Buck. I’m not gonna bash her head in right then and there. I’m not you,” he added jokingly. 

“I’m just saying, you’re built like a brickhouse. I know what you plan on doing, and the takedown alone could fucking shatter her.” 

He couldn’t finish the sentence without bursting into laughter. Steve no better, chuckling as he spoke. 

“If that’s the case, the future does not look bright for our dear Jessabelle Jane Harper.” 

O.o.O.o.O

A few hours were left until dinner, another meal you doubted you would get to enjoy, your stomach growling in agreement. And your commissary hadn’t come in yet so you were left to endure. You spent the time like you always did; sitting on your bed with the hyperawareness of a ninja. Just without the whole ninja-y part. So, more like a scared little puppy ready to tuck tail and run should an altercation come your way. 

Luckily, most inmates spent this quite nice day outside or in the common room playing music and having neck to neck scrabble battles, leaving the dorm as quiet as you’d expect it ever could be during the day. You leaned your head back against the wall and closed your eyes, eyelids heavy with exhaustion, your head throbbing like it had been stomped on by a horse. Or a hundred horses, hard to tell. Your ears were still vigilant but no one stepped foot inside your cube, thankfully. It provided some rest, but not nearly enough. 

An hour or so passed before the inhabitants of the dorm came back in time for count, followed by officer Barnes and Rogers. Great. You suspected your cube would once again look like an earthquake had gotten to it. 

You went to stand outside your cube as always, getting side-eyed by several of the inmates. Some, if not most, smiled when they saw the angry cut and bruise spreading across your forehead. In their mind you had gotten what you deserved, assumingly by some rouge inmate daring to step up in a corner somewhere, none suspecting it to be dealt by the hands of a guard. No, you got cozy with them, they had no reason to hurt you. If only that were true.

“Stand for search,” officer Rogers said, his voice resonating through the room where he stood just by the bubble at the front of the dorm, officer Barnes at his side. 

The inmates stood obediently where they should, waiting for the checks to be done so they could head over to the cafeteria for dinner.

“Search time, ladies” officer Barnes said joyfully, and stepped up to the first cube on the opposite side of you, looking at the inmates there. “This is a mandatory bunk inspection. I need to thoroughly search your cubicle for contraband.” He then turned to speak to the rest of the room. “That goes for all of you. I’m not gonna repeat myself for every fucking cube. You know the drill.” 

With that said, both COs started trashing and messing up the bunks like it was a demolition site where no rules applied, items and clothing flying all over the place. They spared no mind for the clean-up afterwards. Their mess, sure, just not their problem. 

The clanking and banging made your head hurt even worse, making you cringe at every sound. You should have taken an aspirin or something, if you could find one. They sold them at commissary so... that didn’t help. You were, once again, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Might as well take up residency. 

CO Rogers stepped out from the cube next to yours, the inmates there going back inside to clean it up. He went over to you, eyeing the cut above your brow with a brow of his own raised in wonder. You figured he already knew who had put it there. The officers didn’t seem to be late to share any news on you. He was most likely just impressed by it. 

Officer Rogers didn’t spare you a second look before he started demolishing your bunk. Clothes were torn from the hooks, your locker was emptied with a crash of everything scattering across the floor, your bedding turned upright. You looked away. You already knew the awaiting mess he would undoubtedly cause, you didn’t need to see it done.

“What have we here?” you heard the officer say. 

You looked back, finding him standing by the small windowsill where the toilet paper was kept, with a lighter in his hands. What? That wasn’t yours! Did––Did he plant that? 

“Wh––That’s not––” you started to defend yourself, but the officer ignored you. 

“Hey, Bucky! Come here.” 

Your head shot over to the approaching officer (apparently Barnes’ first name was Bucky, despite the J stitched on his shirt), a shiver running down your spine at the sight of his smirk. Shit! Shit, shit, shit. 

“What you find?” he asked when he stepped into the cube, walking all over your pillow and kicking things around. 

You payed close attention to their conversation. 

“A lighter.”

“Oh, shit,” Barnes said. “That’s illegal contraband, isn’t it, Steve?” he said mockingly. 

“Sure is,” Rogers said, handing it over to his fellow officer. 

You didn’t miss the way they smiled at each other, both knowing that it wasn’t your lighter, and that you hadn’t brought it in there in the first place. They were setting you up again. For what? Another shot? More hate from the inmates? 

Officer Rogers looked over at you where you stood shaking like a leaf, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights when he met your gaze. Oh, how precious. 

“Hands behind your back, Harper,” he said, and started walking towards you. 

“What? But... But I haven’t––” Oh, how he hoped you would say that. 

“Get down on the ground, inmate,” he said sternly, steps eating up the floor as he stalked towards you. 

You couldn’t help but take a flinching step back, fearing the anger radiating off of him. Your body was screaming for you to run. But he was faster than you. 

Steve took one final step to reach you, and with a bruising grip on your upper arm, shoved you to the floor with more force than necessary. You managed to turn your head just in time to not let the already injured side connect with the floor, but you couldn’t avoid the pain shooting through your body at the harsh impact, for the second time that day. 

“Ugh!” 

The officer was on you before you could bat an eye, a hard knee burrowing into your back to keep you down as he removed the cuffs from his belt. He was surprisingly agile for his size, easily keeping you pinned beneath him.

“I said, hands behind your fucking back,” he barked, as he grabbed your hands to move them where he wanted, pulling and twisting despite you not struggling. 

He made sure to purposely grip your wrists harder than he needed to, making your skin burn like his fingers were needles, as he tightened the cold steel more than enough to secure them. 

The other inmates smiled and cheered quietly at the rough takedown, almost rejoicing as pained grunts left you when the officer manhandled you. You didn't acknowledge their joy, knowing their presence wouldn't change a thing in the officer's handling, as predicted.

“Ah! Please, sir! It’s not mine,” you pleaded, being ignored per usual.

Instead, he grabbed your shoulder with yet another bruising grip and hauled you up on your feet, roughly turning you towards the door, a firm hand leading you by the arm. 

You spared the other officer, Bucky, a look, finding him ripping pages from the few books you had, raising an expecting eyebrow at you when he noticed you watching, almost daring you to speak up or complain. He smirked at the sight of you being pushed and shoved forward by Steve, enjoying the sweet sounds escaping your lips in pained grunts. 

“Please, sir, I–” 

“Mouth shut, eyes forward,” officer Rogers interrupted. 

With his free hand, he grabbed the intercom resting on his shoulder and spoke into it. 

“This is Rogers, requesting backup for a search in B-dorm. Escorting inmate Harper to seg, confiscated contraband left with Barnes. Copy?” 

What? Seg? As in segregated housing? As in solitary? No! No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. This isn’t happening! You haven’t done anything wrong, the officers knew that. Surely they can’t treat you this way, they can’t just lock you up in solitary confinement as a ruse. Right? 

A voice came through the radio, affirming the call and added a ‘good job’ for measure. Yeah, the officer had done an awesome job...

Officer Rogers walked out of the dorm and left his partner with the remaining inmates until backup showed, leading you down the maze of corridors going god-knows-where. His grip was growing unforgiving at this point, fingers digging into your skin and muscles, undoubtedly leaving bruises in their wake. 

“Sir, please,” you begged. “Please don’t do this. That’s not my lighter, you know that.” He tugged your arm roughly at the mention. “Ah!” 

You whimpered and cried, his grip becoming too much to bear. The cuffs were digging into your skin, cutting off the circulation. 

“I’m sure they’ll believe an inmate over an officer,” Steve said scornfully. “Especially one with several shots already, proving her insubordinate attitude.” 

You knew why they were doing it, why they were so set on punishing you. Though you didn’t know what Nate had told them, or what details he had twisted to fit his story, you did know they believed it, without a doubt. Maybe if they knew the real truth they’d think differently. 

“Please, I haven’t done the things you think I have, you’ve got it all wrong. You don’t know what Nate did to me. You didn’t know him!” 

The officer stopped in the middle of the vacant stairs you had begun to descend, pushing you hard up against the wall. He was looming over you, a whole head taller. You tried pulling at your cuffs to raise your hands but they wouldn’t budge. You were left feeling exposed and defenceless with nothing to shield your body from harm should he try to hurt you. 

“Tell me again how wrong I am, Harper,” he spat out in an tense voice, making you recoil as much as his strong hold would allow, which wasn’t much.

You tried to find your words, but your tongue felt foreign in your mouth, sticking to the roof of it, catching on teeth. Your jaw trembled as you found your voice, barely more than a whisper, shaky and quivering, but better than silence. You knew it was stupid to push, but you had to try. 

“I didn’t mean to kill him, I swear. It was an accident.” Steve sighed, irritated at your lack of judgment. “He hurt me, he tried to–– Ah!” 

Not wanting to hear another word come out of your mouth, Steve pushed you down the rest of the remaining steps, watching you tumble and sag at the bottom. It wasn’t a fall long or hard enough to do any real or lasting damage, he wasn’t homicidal after all, he just wanted you to hurt. And with no chance of breaking your fall, he knew you’d be battered and bruised at the end of it. 

Your body shuddered with sobs, whimpers and whines echoing through the stairwell as you cried. Your shoulder hurt, your ribs hurt, your hip, everything. And your head had been a soft, fluffy pillow before compared to now. 

“Ugh...” you breathed, trying to get a knee underneath you and maybe be able to stand, but found that you couldn’t raise it high enough without a sharp pang rushing up through your side. 

Steve beheld the sight before him, shamelessly basking in the whimpers and groans flying freely. His jaw ticked, his brows furrowed. God, how he hoped he’d drawn blood. He unhurriedly walked down the rest of the way and stepped over your timid frame, eyeing the snug cuffs keeping your hands tied together. He crouched down before you, resting his elbows on his knees. You slowly lifted your head with a pained whimper to look up at him, blood dripping from both the old cut, and a new one on the opposite cheek. 

Steve exhaled slowly through his nose. 

“Tell me again how wrong I am.” 

Tears streamed down your face as you crumpled under his gaze. You cried shamelessly, breath hissing at the strain. You reckoned at least a few ribs were cracked, if not broken. 

How could this happen? How could you be in this mess? How could you be lying face first at the bottom of a staircase, with blood dripping from your face and bruises forming on your skin, again? Nate was dead! This wasn’t supposed to ever happen again, this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. You didn’t deserve any of this. Did you? 

Whenever you tried to defend yourself, they hurt you. Whenever you said nothing at all, they hurt you. It seemed no matter what you did, no matter what choices you made, trying to make the right one, they hurt you. If only they knew. If only they would listen.

Steve waited for a response, anything besides the pathetic cries and sobs coming from you, but none came. You just shook, trembled. Probably from both pain and fear. As you should.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Steve said, and hauled you up. 

He slammed you not so carefully against the wall to keep you on your feet, holding you there, your knees threatening to give out at any second should he let you go. You coughed and moaned, trying to find your breath again, but yet another hard slam to your back made it more difficult than finding a drink of water in the Sahara. 

"Uh!"

You met the officer’s cold, steely eyes, finding them surprisingly patient. You looked down almost immediately, fearing that might change any second if you didn’t. 

Steve followed a trickle of blood slowly making its way from your cheek down your throat, staining the neck of the white undershirt you had on, fading to a soft crimson. He noticed the rapid flutter of your pulse at the side of your neck, beating like it was trying to burst free. He could almost hear your heartbeat drumming in your chest. 

“Now,” he said, startling you. “Are we clear on the power dynamic here, or do I have to make myself even clearer?” 

“Please...” you begged weakly, sniffling. You were rewarded with another shove into the wall. “Uh!” 

Steve bared his teeth, leaning in close. “Do I?”

“No! No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever you say, sir, just, please...” your voice broke, shattering like glass. “Please, don’t hurt me...” 

Sobs shook your body again, tears like rain on your cheeks, hitting the floor as you lowered your head in a silent pray for the man to show mercy. You wanted nothing more than to cover your face and cry in the corner, but you couldn’t. Instead you were trapped against the wall, held there by the same man who had just purposely pushed you down half a flight of stairs, just because he wanted to. 

Steve observed your crying, cowering form, wanting so bad to get away, to get somewhere safe. Away from him. His fingers sunk deeper into your arms, drawing more gasps and whines from you. 

“But hurting you is half the fun.” His smiled widened. “The other half is watching you whimper, and whine, and beg for me not to. So you see, it makes no sense _not_ to hurt you. If anything, I should hurt you even more.” 

He moved back, just a little, enough to make you think he might take a swing at you, or shove you down the upcoming flight of stairs. 

“No! Please, no,” you begged. 

Steve furrowed his brows in makeshift wonder. “But I thought you said you’d do anything?” 

You didn’t know what to say. Sure, you had said that, but you didn’t want to give in. You didn’t want to hurt anymore. But it was becoming evident that there was no stopping it, no stopping them from causing you pain. Not if they wanted to. And they did. 

So you leaned your head back, practically offering your face as a canvas for him to paint with your own blood. You submitted. 

He watched you close your eyes for a second, preparing yourself for the whatever might come next. He watched a solemn tear leave your eye and mingle with the trail of blood already running down your face, before slowly reopening your eyes again, only to turn them away. 

Steve felt a tinge of sadness mixed with the joy of victory, or dominance perhaps, but he shoved that so far down he doubted he would ever feel it again. He had you cornered, right where he wanted. His to do what he pleases with. And that was enough. Just the triumphant glory of knowing he was the one to beat you into that corner. Now you could wallow in it. 

You were chocked when instead of being punched, or kicked, or shoved, you were dragged away by the arm yet again, staggeringly descending the remainder of steps, relying just a little too much on Steve to keep you from falling. But you suspected that if he wanted you to fall, you would, no matter how steady your feet were. 

You arrived at the back of the prison, a loading dock or some sort. A van was parked on the other side of one of the many fences, motor already running and inmate Morello sitting in the driver’s seat. There was another guard, officer Bennett, standing by the side door awaiting you. Steve walked you over with bigger steps than he knew you could comfortably follow. 

Steve nodded his head at the other guard. 

“Bennett,” he said and halted, keeping you close to his side. 

CO Bennett opened the van door, allowing Rogers to all but lift you up by your arm and shoving you in. You just managed to catch yourself from falling embarrassingly on your side. Morello gave you a worried look when you noticed her, but you looked away. You’d had enough of people being on your case for one day. Thankfully, she didn’t say anything. She just upped the volume on whatever station she was listening to, ignoring the tension. 

“What happened?” Bennett asked, and motioned to his own face while nodding his head to the side at you. 

“Oh,” Steve said and flailed his hands like he couldn’t believe your clumsiness. “She took a nasty fall down the stairs. Don’t worry, though. She won’t need a medic. She can just... wash off when she gets to the SHU.” 

You blinked away tears. Not only at the reminder of where you were going, whatever kind of hellhole it might be, but at the clear disregard of your wellbeing. Your ribs hurt enough to tell-tale of at least cracks and bruising, your cheek was still seeping some blood, and your head hurt enough it made your ears ring. But no, sure, you didn’t need medical. Though, even if the offer was to be on the table, you doubted you would accept it. Sometimes trying to heal injuries just resulted in more and worse injuries. No one liked a snitch, right? 

"Sure she's not concussed?" Bennett asked, looking worringly at the wound on your forehead. 

"She's fine, it's just a small scrape," Steve said, smiling tensly. 

“If you say so,” Bennett said, dragging the door to a close. 

You looked at officer Rogers through the barred window, catching a glimpse of his smile, distorted through the glass. You swallowed down a clot of bloody saliva. 

CO Bennet got in the van, closing his door without another word to his fellow officer, or another look back at you where you sat, still cuffed and no seatbelt on. Not like it mattered. A car crash sounded almost inviting at this point. You just hoped Morello would gain enough momentum to have you crash through the windshield and splatter like a bug on the pavement. 

The van drove off and through the labyrinth of roads leading down the hill. You had no idea what awaited you. Would it be dark? Light? Cold and damp? Would you still be able to hear people talk, exist, even if there was a hundred feet of concrete separating you? Cuts and bruises weren’t the worst thing imaginable. Pain, physical pain, you could handle. But the mental, emotional pain was unbearable when left to its own device. And you were about to be locked in a box, with no way of escaping yourself.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a very long or telling chapter, but I wanted to give you something :) 
> 
> The next chapter will have some action, I promise!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Blood, depressive and suicidal thoughts. (Like most of this story...)
> 
> Do you guys like/need the trigger warnings, or are the tags enough? I don't like to give hints of what the chapter contains, but I really don't want to trigger anyone... 
> 
> Let me know!

A box. A box with grimy walls and sticky floor. A 10 by 10-foot cement box with nothing more than a toilet with a sink and a bed. And a blanket. At least you had a blanket.  


People were screaming in the adjacent cells, shouting obscenities and damning the guards for putting them in this hellhole. The lonely florescent light in the ceiling was flickering endlessly, zapping like it was killing bugs with each flit. Cold, bright and loud. That’s what SHU is like.

Hours must have passed since that solid red door was shut, locking in place behind you. The guards taking you down to your new very humble abode hadn’t even commented on the cuts or bruises you had yet to clean, assuming you must have done something to deserve them. Maybe you had. Maybe you deserved everything that happened to you, and everything yet to come. After all, a man was dead at the hands of you. That couldn’t be changed, no matter how much you wished that it could. And apparently the circumstances of his death were trivial in the scheme of things. 

You sat huddled in the corner, holding your knees as tightly as the ache in your ribs would allow, your constant crying making it no easier to try and breathe. You couldn’t find a single calm thought to grasp or hold onto for dear life, instead quickly drowning in the abyss of darkness of your own mind, haunted by the ghost that inhabited it.

FLASHBACK

“No, n-no, please. Nate, please,” you begged, your voice carrying pain and fear as you gulped in air. 

He was stalking towards you, savoring every sweet, innocent plea falling from your mouth. No matter how much he hurt you, you never stopped begging. Never stopped pleading for him to have mercy, to, just please, don’t hurt you. 

Sharp spikes of searing pain shot through your belly as you tried to move away from him, one hand firmly pressing down on the wound he had already caused. Warm blood was seeping through your fingers and slicking the floor beneath you, flowing out across the floorboards. 

You moaned and cried. Even just the thought of any movement sent another sharp twang through your body. 

Nate laughed, and kicked your leg to the side, drawing yet another whimper from you.

“Oh, dear,” he mocked, a grin plastered on his lips as he looked down. “Does it hurt?” 

“Mmmph,” was all that came out in a shuddering breath. He laughed at you. 

“What’s the matter? Cat’s got your tongue?” he said with a wink. “I think I can find a way to get you to speak. _You_ might not like it, though.” 

Nate took a step back, before hurling a hard foot right in your belly. Right at the blood.

“Agh!” you screamed, spitting blood as you fought to draw breath. 

Mind-numbing pain blossomed in your abdomen, your ears ringing with the sound of white noise. 

“Please…” you wheezed, shaking and shuddering. 

The pain was burning you up from the inside, like a raging inferno. A raging inferno burning everything it came to touch. 

But again, Nate just laughed. Amused by the pain, your pain, and the noises you made. 

“Told you.”

END OF FLASHBACK

No, please, don’t go there. Not now. Not here. Not when there’s no place to run to, nothing to keep your attention or distract you. You needed to derail the train before you rammed yourself straight into that wall of crippling agony that was far too familiar. You were left with no alternative, fearing the mental and emotional pain more than the one you would subject yourself to in order to escape the others. 

You lowered a leg down to the ground with an echoing groan, the pain horribly familiar to the one of getting kicked in the stomach after just being stabbed. As if the memory itself wasn’t bad enough, you just had to relive the physical pain as well, but it did what it was supposed to do, and grounded you in the now. The memory of Nate faded back into the blackness once more, when curious fingers caressed the sharp line of ribs underneath your shirt, testing what pressure they could take.

“Ugh… hah…” you rasped at the light touches. 

Not a lot apparently. They must be mere millimeters from being broken.

Longing eyes watched the door in a silent pray for it to be opened again. To reveal salvation. To reveal anything. Anything but the dub grey or spotted metallic showering the room. At least there was the bright, sharp contrast of the door. 

The red paint was flaked all over. Scratched. Flawed. The top was kept bright red, fading as it went down to the bottom where the underlying metal was bared, the upper part probably saved by its height. You couldn’t reach it. You doubted many of the inmates could. Even if they did, they probably wouldn’t hold the strength to scratch at the paint at that height. 

There were inscriptions. Calls for help etched in the coating. Help. Save me. Kill me. 

How long would it take for your mind to start spurring out ideas on how to save yourself? How to escape. A month? A week? A day perhaps? There’s no telling of just how dark your mind could get with so little. It’s like tapping on a broken window, or a cracked mirror, just waiting for the pieces to shatter apart. How hard would someone have to tap for your pieces to shatter? How long? 

Tap, tap. 

O.o.O.o.O

The rev of a motorcycle engine roared outside the window of their shared house. Bucky was stood leaning against the kitchen sink with his bare back to the window, a bowl of bran flakes in his hands. He had just gotten up, and Steve had apparently just gotten home. They both had the day off. Well, Steve had worked for several hours already, but he wasn’t due back to work for another couple of days, back on the dayshift again. 

Steve parked his bike on the driveway next to Bucky’s and killed the engine. He didn’t take his bike that often, neither did Bucky, but when the weather was nice and he didn’t have to make a pitstop at Micky D’s or the local Wendy’s, he seized the opportunity. 

“Mornin’,” Bucky mumbled through a mouthful as Steve walked in to the kitchen, throwing his jacket on the back of the nearest chair. 

“Didn’t think you’d be up,” Steve said, and sat down at the round table with a loud sigh. 

He hated nightshifts when you weren’t there for him to tease and occupy his time with. It had been their fault that you weren’t in fact in the dorm where he roamed the nights, but still. He could nonetheless complain that it wasn’t any fun when you weren’t there. He’d had a taste of the thrills the shift could offer, but this? This plain, quiet, working in the dim lighting and trying to stay awake thing? That was just boring. 

“Yeah, well,” Bucky said and spooned in another mouthful. “Restless night. Couldn’t get my mind off dear little Jessie, and what you might have gotten into bringing her down to SHU.” 

Steve scoffed with a grin. Bucky waited a second before adding; 

“Care to tell me? Does she look worse than when I last saw her?” Bucky asked with an equally wide smile. 

“That she does,” Steve said drawn out. 

“Oh, yeah? What you do?” 

He shovelled another spoon into his mouth as he listened, curious to know what Steve had gotten up to. 

Steve bit his lip, trying to contain his widening smile as he reminisced of your glorious downfall. Literally. 

“She might have taken a tumble down the stairs.” 

Bucky burst into laughter, almost spitting the milk out of his mouth. He dried his mouth with the back of his hand, and set down the almost empty bowl on the counter beside him. 

“No shit! You didn’t?” 

“I did,” Steve said proudly. 

Bucky clapped his hands together in an impressed applaud. 

“You’re worse than me, Steve.” 

“Nah, it was a spur of the moment kind of thing. She was pissing me off with her excuses and all that.”

Steve got up to open the fridge and grabbed the prepared shake waiting for him, drinking straight from the jug. With the door still open as he did, which annoyed Bucky who was just in his underwear still, and not liking the cool breeze sweeping across the room. Luckily for Steve, he shut it quick enough not to earn a remark. 

“Really?” Bucky said. “Still don’t know when to shut up, huh? Did you make her cry, too? ‘Cause all I got was begging. Not that I’m complaining, it’s so much hotter than I thought. Hearing her plead, and beg, and fucking whine like that. Fuck!” he exclaimed at the memory. 

He hadn’t anticipated how good it would feel to be so hands on and in control. He was in control of all the inmates all the time, sure, but it wasn’t the same as it was with you. With you, there were no limits on what he could get up to, knowing Steve had his back and wanted the same things as he did; to get Nate some justice. With the other inmates there were more risks involved, and an honour code to uphold. With you, the risks were minimal, seeing no inmate was particular close to you (anymore), and most of them wanted nothing to do with you and frankly wouldn’t give a rat’s ass if something were to happen to you. The plans were unravelling splendidly. 

“Oh, yeah? You should’ve heard her weeping and begging when she was lying on the bottom of the stairs. Hands still cuffed, completely helpless. Talk about a whining mess,” Steve snorted where he stood resting an arm over the Philco fridge and drink in his free hand, hearing every sound you had made echoing in his head.

How helpless you had been, how scared. And the look on your face when realization hit that you couldn’t do anything to stop him from doing what he wanted with you was beautiful in its sadness. No, not sadness. Submission. Nothing else. 

Bucky scoffed at the remark and gratefully interrupted Steve’s thoughts, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee from the pot, taking the first steaming sip. He knew Steve wouldn’t want one so he didn’t offer. He never drank coffee before bed, and it was his bedtime after all.

“What?” he said surprised. “Still handcuffed? Damn, Rogers. You’re a meanie,” he said with a laugh into the cup. 

“Don’t worry, it was like five steps left,” Steve said, and chucked the now empty container into the sink for Bucky to deal with whenever he decided to do the dishes. “She just did a nose-dive and landed awkwardly. All she got was a cut on her cheekbone, and probably some bruises here and there. She’ll live.”

Steve walked out of the kitchen with Bucky on his tail and into his bedroom to get out of his work clothes, and maybe take a shower and get the stench of prison off. He unbuckled his belt and stripped of his shirt and the tee underneath, throwing them both in the bin to be washed. 

Bucky leaned against the doorframe to Steve’s room. Privacy wasn’t an issue in their house. There just wasn’t any.

“How do you think she’ll handle the SHU?” he asked and took a sip of the mug in his hand, equally unbothered by his friend’s upcoming nakedness as much as he was his own. 

“Don’t know,” Steve said, and tossed his socks in the bin with the other items, left with just his pants on, the belt buckle clanking as he moved. “She seems... fragile. Might crack her.” 

He didn’t linger on the thought though, instead opting for a more joyous approach, and finding your discomfort enjoyable more than anything else. 

Bucky nodded at the thought. You were indeed very reserved already. Then add a few days, if not weeks, in a cement box with almost constant yelling and screaming going on around. It might do a number on your head, which didn’t seem like a foreign idea when it came to you.

He forced the thought away with a big gulp of hot coffee swimming in his mouth, drawing all the attention. All the while Steve stepped out of his pants, and made ready for the shower, and then the very tempting bed. He would only get a few hours of sleep if he was going to turn back his circadian rhythm, and he wanted them sooner rather than later.

“Well,” Bucky said, just as Steve made to pass him in the doorway. “If the alone time doesn’t crack her, we sure will.”

Steve snorted at the remark. They were both planning on grinding you down to the fucking bone, but Bucky’s confidence in the ordeal was amusing to say the least. The man could come up with the most ingenious ideas sometimes.

“Oh, yeah? Got big plans to achieve that?” he asked, and opened the door to the bathroom. 

“I have a few ideas,” Bucky said cheerfully with a wink, then turned towards his bedroom to get ready for the day. 

“You always do,” Steve agreed, before shutting the door to finally let the hot water wash away the last lingering doubts.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter with a bit more action ;)
> 
> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Depressive thoughts, abuse, non-con touching, pissing, threats. 
> 
> Things are taking off!

The reflective metallic acting as a mirror above the sink showed an ill and distorted image. The cuts and scrapes where all cleaned now, leaving only sore scabs and reddening bruises prominent on your skin. There was just the scrape on your cheekbone accompanying the earlier cut on your face, but both a hip and a knee had taken some assault, the tiniest bit of blood had seeped through the skin and stained your clothes. Besides that, there were just more bruises here and there, your ribs having taken first prize in that department. 

After yet another meltdown sitting huddled in the corner and crying, you were left feeling empty and restless. You hated that feeling. The feeling of being completely drained of thought and emotion, body heavy with exhaustion, yet there was an underlying itch to move. 

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t do anything but choose between the sink, the bed or the corner. And your butt was favouring the bed above the floor when it came to resting places. You laid down on the thin, worn matrass, your body thankful in spite of the poor layer cushioning you from the metal. Your ribs and hip complained at the movement, forcing out hisses and grunts. But despite the pain of lying down, exhaustion overtook you. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t have to worry about nightly visitors. You could rest. Finally. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t dream. Of anything. 

You were awakened by the screech of the hatch on the door being opened, and a plastic tray being sent through. 

“Breakfast,” a male guard said on the other side. 

Wow, you must have slept for at least twelve hours. Maybe this whole SHU ordeal should be considered a vacation from camp? There was both sleep _and_ food, which was not an option up the hill. Blessing in disguise? A loud, gut-wrenching scream was heard farther down the hall. Nope. Not a blessing. 

You got up on weak and tired legs, your knee hurting even more after some rest, and gratefully grabbed the tray being handed to you. The hatch closed as soon as the tray was through, without another word from the CO. On it was a simple, lonely piece of bread with a simple, lonely slice of bologna on top. Nothing else. Except, of course, for a splotch of mould right in the middle. Great. Well, beggars can’t be choosers. 

You limped back to the bed and sat back down with your _delicious_ food. You gave the sandwich a onceover before biting into it, and immediately regretted it. The plastic-y feel and the metallic taste told of an expiration date having come and gone several times over. Seriously? Was this even edible at this point? But with a few determined and open-mouthed bites, it was quelling your hunger nonetheless. At least it was food. The last thing you’d eaten was that deceitful Twix, luring you in with its chocolaty cover and crunchy caramel filling. Satan’s treat. 

Your mind drifted to the officers, Steve and Bucky. Bucky, weird name. You gathered that it was a nickname, seeing there was a J stitched into all his shirts, but it was still weird. More like Fucky when the mood struck. And Peeve. Fucky and Peeve. Yeah, that’s more suiting. 

Why had they set you up with contraband? Was it just to put you in this hellhole and let your own mind run haywire and drive you insane, or was there something else? The SHU was a part of the Max-facility, and from what you understood, that was its own separate workplace. Which meant that Peeve and Fucky didn’t spend their days down here, and therefore weren’t around you whilst you were still locked up. Could you be so lucky? Everything prior to this _vacation_ spoke against it. No, you were never lucky. 

Dread started creeping up your spine, crashing through every vertebra and sending spears of fear into every corner of your body. Your hands clenched into fists, nails digging little half-moons into your palms and stiffening like they were submerged under icy water. You laid back down on your side with your knees pulled up towards your chest as high as they would go without causing even more pain, hoping to find the comfort you needed. But the matrass only mocked you. There was no comfort here. It was just cold, and hard, and lonely. 

Spots started dancing around the room like glittering little stars, there just for you. Everything else blurred away into nothing, leaving only the growing stars creating a galaxy with only you in it. It was almost pretty, if darkness hadn’t overtaken you so soon. 

You woke only to eat, grateful for some kind of routine. You were too afraid to think about anything, fearing your own mind like a haunted house. So, you chose to sleep the time away for as long as you could, the earlier sleepless nights aided greatly in your mission. So far it worked. So far counting US capitals and European countries worked wonders to not only keep the ghosts locked away, but it was boring as hell and made you fall asleep before you could ever finish counting. 

Your body was slowly healing as well, cuts scabbing over quickly, and bruises took on a new shade each day. Or maybe it was longer than that. Hard to tell. However long it took, you were grateful for the lessening pain, but you had no doubts in your mind that there was more to come. 

O.o.O.o.O

“You ready?” Steve asked. 

He was standing by the door, ready to make his way out, just waiting for Bucky to get all of his things together from where they were littering the bench. They were going straight from the gym to get early to work, having some... _business_ to attend to before starting their day. 

Steve’s days off hadn’t been all that restful. He wanted to get back to work and see the damaged done, and not having to guess and fantasize constantly. He’d busied himself with several trips to the gym already, washing both the cars and bikes, and finally fixed the issue with the Wi-Fi. Anything to get time to pass.

“Yeah, yeah” Bucky said, and grabbed his water bottle and chucked it in the bag. 

For Bucky, having to work and keep a leash on himself was harder than he had anticipated. He wanted to go down to SHU and just gloat, just see you sitting there all broken. He hadn’t done it of course, but it was harder not to than he’d previously thought. The days had passed by so slowly, and not having Steve there to talk to or joke around with made the day feel like one long, last drop of syrup not wanting to leave the bottle. But here they both were now. Time to reap what they’ve sown. 

They were both already in uniform, both getting several flirtatious glances from both men and women on their way out. It wasn’t something new to either of them. They knew how well they filled out their uniform. Pants fitting snuggly in all the right places, shirts just tight enough to showcase the muscle that lay underneath, especially after a good workout. And the uniform itself did its part. But they made no move to flirt back, or otherwise show interest, other than smiling appreciatively back at them. They had other things in mind.

Steve got in the driver’s seat and started the car. Bucky rarely drove unless he called it, despite whose car they took. It was a habit left from their military days when Steve had been the designated driver for a good couple of months, always in charge of getting from point A to point B. He liked the control. Old habits die hard. 

“How do you think she’s doing?” Bucky asked from where he sat comfortably leaned back in his seat, arm resting by the window. 

Steve drew a deep breath, letting it out through his nose. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s only been a few days but it could be enough to do some real damage, depends on what she’s like with solitude. Some people aren’t affected by it at all, some crumble from just a day or two.” 

“I think she’s crumbled,” Bucky said with a snort. “She’s seemed ready to tuck tail so many times before this, I’m surprised she’s managed to hold out for so long.” A moment of silence passed between them, speaking loudly, but Bucky read it the way he wanted. “I guess some people just aren’t meant for prison.” 

“Then I guess some people shouldn’t commit heinous crimes,” Steve said tensely, clearly aggravated at that thought of you. 

Bucky nodded, feeling that same aggravation starting to course through his own veins the more he thought about it. 

“Damn right.” 

Neither men said anything for a few moments, both thinking back on their time with Nate. He hadn’t been a close friend by any means, but he certainly didn’t deserve to be murdered, and certainly not in such horrid ways. No one deserved to die like that. And no one deserved to get out of murdering someone. Let alone you. 

“Think he’d want this?” Steve asked after a while, taking another turn on the winding road. 

“Millers?”

“Yeah. Think he’d want us to punish her?”

“I think he’d do the same for us,” Bucky said, and sat up straighter in his seat. 

“That’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking, would he want us to make her pay for what she did? For killing him?”

Bucky looked over at Steve, noticing the slightly firmer grip on the wheel and the tension set in his jaw. He was overthinking things. That was his overthinking-face. 

“Wouldn’t you wanna know that the person responsible for your death was severally punished?” Bucky asked with some force. “That the person who jabbed a fucking knife into your chest over and over until you bled out, got what they fucking deserved?”

Steve nodded his head slowly, as if to himself, with the raise of a brow as he did. He’d want the person responsible to rot at the bottom of a fucking well, eating rats and maggots and drinking their blood to keep themselves alive, and never forget who put them there should someone end his life like that. 

“Yeah, I would” he said, picturing you with the tail of a rat hanging out of the corner of your mouth.

“Fuck yeah,” Bucky agreed, dragging stiff fingers over his jaw as he himself pictured his own idea of hell happening to you. 

If Nate were here to see the spectacle for himself, he’d pat them on the back for their hard work, and buy them a round of beer as a thank you. 

“Plus,” he added. “The way he talked about her? He fucking knew that she needed to be shown her place, that she had it coming. I just think he’d wanna be the one to do it.” 

Both men scoffed and chuckled at the picture forming in their heads of everything Nate said he would do to you, but most likely never got around to. The man could talk a good game. He’d gotten them both all riled up and antsy, even when he was alive to tell his stories. It wasn’t more than fitting that Bucky and Steve saw to it that it happened.

“Think he ever got around to it?” Steve asked with a grin.

“What?”

“Fucking her,” Steve said with laughter lining his words. 

Bucky snorted at the comment, before giving in to the chuckle tickling in his chest. 

“Oh, please,” he said sarcastically. “That dude was all talk and no game. I bet it was all just for show after Luscheck called him a fag for hanging out with us. He never brought her up before that, so...”

Steve nodded along. Millers hadn’t even mentioned you in passing before Luscheck’s comment about all three men being gay, which Millers had taken offense to, and quite a bit, going by his reaction. Luscheck hadn’t muttered another word on the matter since. 

“True,” Steve said. “But the way he talked about her, you just knew he wanted to mess with her, in a lot of ways. I’m telling ya, he was hot for her.”

“Don’t blame him. There’s just something about her that makes me want to beat the shit out of her, and at the same time fuck her into oblivion.”

Both men laughed at the dilemma, agreeing to every word.

“I second that,” Steve said, just as they entered the parking lot to the Max facility. 

O.o.O.o.O

Days passed without a living soul talking to you, beside a CO telling you what meal they were sending through. No one in the adjacent cells made a single sound meant for your ears, though you were left to endure their endless screaming. 

Your mind was starting to fog over. Thoughts became heavy and unclear whenever you tried to follow them. Was time even passing? You weren’t sure. It could be early, or the middle of the night, you had no way of knowing. They kept the lights on to confuse and daze the inmates. It worked. Oh, did it work. 

Footsteps sounded out in the hallway. Wasn’t anything new. Could be a guard, could be an inmate being transferred or cleaning the floor, could be a fucking ghost for all you cared. You didn’t trust your ears anymore. You didn’t trust anything anymore. 

Then there it was. The familiar constriction of your chest. Like a weather forecaster telling of an upcoming storm with thunder and lightning and hail the size of golf balls. Like screaming sirens sounding throughout a pitch-black night. _That_ you knew to trust. And then the door was pulled open. 

“Huh,” you gasped. 

You shot up to a sitting position, moving back with your knees up as a protective barrier. You ignored the ache firing through you at such a sudden movement, too preoccupied with the two smirking men standing in the doorway. 

“Hi, Jess,” officer Barnes said, taking the first step into the cell, Steve following close behind. 

“Good morning,” he said. 

Okay, it was morning. Of what day? That doesn’t matter right now, focus! Why were they here? What did they want? 

“I seem to have forgotten to... search you before bringing you down here,” Steve said. “We can’t have that, now, can we?” 

You trembled. He was going to search you? Just a pat down, though, right? Only female COs were allowed to do the strip-searches. He can’t do that! 

“Against the wall, inmate,” Barnes said with a sideways nod to the wall beside him. 

You didn’t know what to do. Should you just go along with it and hope for the best, or do you fight? Could you fight? Where was the fire that let you argue with Grease Hair? You couldn’t find it anywhere. It wasn’t there anymore. 

“Now, inmate,” Steve said firmly. 

Okay, so option one. Rock, hard place, meet Jess. She’ll be staying here for the rest of her life. 

You stood up on unsteady feet, shuffling along towards the officers still standing in the doorway. Both men just followed your slow limping with their eyes, but didn’t make a move, yet. They didn’t say anything, wanting to hear the soft, low whining coming from you. Your cheeks went red when you realized that the sound you had heard was coming from you. 

“Hands against the wall,” Steve said when you were close enough, taking a large step to come up behind you. 

You did as he ordered, the rough, filthy cement sticking to your palms and fingers. You felt him standing there, too close. His height overshadowed your shuddering body, submerging you in his authority. You didn’t dare to look back at him, but you could almost feel him smirking where he stood behind you, completely in control. 

Officer Barnes took another step into the cell, before dragging the door to a close. You gasped at the sound, your hands unintentionally falling from their place on the wall when you turned towards the door, as if you could make it out before it shut completely. But CO Rogers was quick to correct you. 

“Hands on the fucking wall,” he spat out, and shoved you back in place, forcing your hands back where they had been. 

“Uh!” Apologize. Apologize, now! “I’m sorry, sir! I’m sorry.” 

Steve gave Bucky a smile when hearing the helpless whine fall from your mouth, and Bucky returned it. Music to their ears. But to you, it was torture. 

Tears were brimming your eyes, blurring everything you could see. Your shoulders were rigid in their set place, causing the tension to grow into a headache. Please, just let this be over. 

Steve slowly started to run his hands over your shoulders and down your arms, pressure soft and easy, almost like he was caressing you. You trembled at the feeling, but Steve just smiled wider. His hands travelled down the length of your back, drawing several hisses from you when grazing your sore ribs, before coming down and checking the hem of your trousers with curious fingers. You couldn’t stop the whimper before it escaped through your quivering jaw, releasing the tears from their confinement as well. 

“Shh,” Steve said calmly. 

You hated it. You hated the feigned sound of comfort. He knew what he was doing, he knew what he was putting you through. And there wasn’t a comforting fibre in his body, despite the reassuring sound he made to try and convince you otherwise. 

He crouched down and circled the length of your legs, pressing down on your thighs and patting the area around your butt. You felt the jiggle he caused. You wanted to throw up, bile even rising up. But Steve and Bucky just had trouble containing their grins at the lovely sight. 

His hands came back up as he stood, this time over your belly. You drew a shaky breath, holding it tight within you and prayed that he didn’t move his fingers under the fabric. Anything but that. Please, anything but that. Thankfully, he didn’t. 

Instead his fingers moved up and searched the underside of your breasts, lingering longer than necessary, not leaving anything untouched. You couldn’t contain the gasps and whimpers when the palms of his hands gripped you through your shirt, your knees threatening to buckle and send you to the floor. Your fingers curved into the wall, nails clawing at the dirt. Anything to keep upright, keep your hands where he had ordered them to be. Steve pressed you back hard into his chest, pain blossoming again throughout your ribcage. You scrunched your eyes up, trying to block him out, not let him invade your mind as he did your body. But more tears fell as he massaged your breasts in slow squeezes, humming approvingly as he did. 

“She’s clean,” he said at the shell of your ear, making you recoil at the sound. 

“Good,” Bucky said when Steve moved back just enough to allow you to catch your breath, closing your eyes tightly to regain calm. “Since Steve didn’t search you before bringing you down, you could have stashed something,” Bucky continued, looking around the small, cramped cell as he walked. 

You turned your head, not daring to move anything else. What could they possibly be searching for? Both men knew that lighter hadn't been yours, they were the ones who had planted it, for crying out loud. And there wasn't exactly an overwhelming amount of possibilities to mess up your cell, if that was what they were going for. Both officers were looking at you expectantly, before turning to each other. 

“Might have seized the opportunity,” Steve added. “Best to do a search, I think. Don’t you, Buck?”

“Seems only safe, right?” 

“Yeah,” Steve said before turning to look at you again. “Hands behind your back.”

He grabbed the handcuffs from his belt and opened them, preparing to cuff you. Again. 

“What?” you asked with a tremor. 

You didn’t need to be cuffed for this. They never cuffed you when doing a sweep before, why did they need to do it now? 

“It’s for our protection,” Steve explained, though you doubted the truth of his words. “Can’t have a dangerous inmate on the loose with unlocked doors and defenceless officers just doing their job, now, can we? Especially not one with a record of hurting said officers,” he said and forcibly shoved your arms down and behind your back, securing them with the snugness of the cuffs. 

“Ah,” you grunted when he manoeuvred you around to stand with your back and arms against the wall, his hand still holding a firm grip on your shoulder, not letting you move an inch even if you tried. 

Bucky started checking the room for contraband. Feeling around the toilet seat, the sink, the makeshift mirror, the vent, then lastly your bed. He flipped the matrass, almost folding it in half, and threw the shaken-out blanket on top, coming up empty. As expected. 

“Seems clean to me,” he said, though his voice carried something wicked. 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Maybe a little too clean, wouldn’t you say, Buck?” 

Steve moved closer to you, letting go of your shoulder and leaning his own against the wall, bringing his face down almost next to yours, smiling when you flinched. Bucky slowly nodded his head like he was mulling something over. 

“Hmm, what could we do about that?” he said in a very sarcastic tone. “Oh, I have an idea.”  


With that said, a wide smile spread across his face, white teeth showing in an ominous grin. Then his hands travelled down to his belt and started undoing the buckle. You froze, eyes fixed on the officer as he undid his trousers and took out his cock through the open fly, and started to pee all over your matrass and blanket. 

“No! No, no, no, please–” you started, going to take a step forward but was stopped by Steve who shoved you back against the wall with a hard thud. “Ah!”

“What you say, inmate?” he barked at you. “You mouthing off to an officer? You wanna spend a few extra weeks in this shithole, huh? Or should I say pisshole?” 

Both men laughed as more tears cascaded down your cheeks, stinging the healing wound with its salt. You turned your head away, not wanting to see the horrific invasion of the officer pissing all over your things, the smell already spreading in the confined space. 

But Steve wouldn’t have it. He grabbed a hold of your chin with one hand, forcing you to face them both. 

“Uh-uh,” he tutted. “You don’t get to look away, doll.” 

“Please,” you forced out through your clamped shut mouth, not caring how pathetic you looked when you begged. 

You just wanted them to stop. 

Bucky laughed, the sound briefly muffling the last splashes of urine hitting the plastic matrass and metal bedframe, before he shook himself off, and tucked himself back into his pants, smiling proudly at the wet bedding. 

Steve watched your face intently, following the drops of tears flowing from your eyes and pooling onto his hand. He eased his grip on your chin, allowing you movement but still keeping you in place. You let out a shallow breath at the privilege to move your mouth. Though his fingers still burrowed into your skin, and painfully so.

“Did you know there are no cameras in this cell?” he asked. “Huh? Did you?”

You hadn’t thought about it, but you hadn’t spotted a camera anywhere when you came to think of it. A shudder ran through you at the thought. Oh, no.

“Only a few of them work,” he continued, like he was telling you an interesting story. “And they put the long-timers in those cells. This one, the one you’re in, doesn’t have any cameras. No one’s watching.” 

His free hand slowly caressed down your torso, from your throat to your trousers. And this time, he didn’t stop. His fingers skilfully lifted the hem, playing with the fabric, grazing the, thankfully, unmarked skin. 

You opened you mouth in a silent gasp, a scream fighting to emerge but never found its voice, your eyes blinking rapidly to shed the tears and leave room for new ones. Your breath was shaky as you fought for air, feeling the panic rising. Oh, god, no. Please, no. Please, not this. But Steve just smirked at you. 

“We could do so many things to you right here, and there would be no way of proving any of it. So, unless you wanna find out all the different ways we could make you squirm–” his hand slid down into your pants to grab your core through the thin material of your panties. “–you better shut your mouth and be fucking grateful that pissing on your bed is all we’re gonna do. For now.” 

And there it was. The anticipated threat. It lingered in the air with the words left unspoken, surrounding you in its invisible, unforgiving hold. Like a vice tightening around you, stealing the air from your lungs and blood from your veins. Leaving you as nothing more than an empty shell. 

“Do I make myself clear, Jessie? Hmm?” 

You swallowed. It didn’t do anything to regain the control of your voice, just shuddering breaths passing through. Your mind was like a blaring alarm going off, not a sane thought could penetrate it. But then he closed his grip on your pussy, fingers slipping through your folds and feeling around the soft flesh that lie there. 

“Y-ye-yes, sir,” was whispered, hoping it was enough. 

You wanted to beg, you wanted to plead, to reason with the men, but you didn’t. You knew better than to tempt fate when that threat dangled in front of you. The threat you never wanted to hear again, the threat you knew was a promise of unforgiving pain. 

Bucky walked up to the two of you, eyes shamelessly taking in every inch of your body, adding every curve, every strand of hair to memory. He bit his lip when he locked in on the hand still down your pants. He noticed the tremor of your body. Like a lonely leaf left on a branch. Beautiful. 

Steve retracted his hands with a pleased smiling sigh, drawing a shaky breath from you when his touch finally left you. You closed your eyes. Defeated. Shamed.

Steve pulled you forward by the arm to get to the cuffs still locked safely in place. You would have stumbled, if not fallen completely to the floor, hadn’t he held on to you, steadying you, before releasing the cuffs and left you to your own devices. Both men took a few steps back, giving you some much needed space. Though you made no attempt to move away from them. You couldn’t even if you wanted to. Your body was gone. Completely gone. An empty vessel. There was nothing left. You just prayed for them to leave. Prayed for the screams around to be the biggest problem you had. You'd listen to the screaming for years if it would only undo what they had done.

Bucky dragged the heavy door open again, stepping out of the cell and leaving space for Steve to follow, both men sad to be leaving but they had work to do that didn't involve you. Steve slowly backed out, wanting to savour the last seconds in your presence like he was starved. Never once did you turn your head to look at any of them, tears flowing like a faucet turned on. They had, once again, chased you into a corner and watched you crumble with delight. That was as good a start to the day as any in their book.

“See you around, Jess,” Steve said when he was through the door, a beaming smile painted on his face that wouldn't go away any time soon. 

With a quick glance back at the bed he had messed up, Bucky smirked at you and said, “Sleep tight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some explanation; Jess is terrified of anyone seeing or feeling the scars on her body, even though in this case it might help her if they were to see them. But she's just too traumatized and ashamed fo them, and struggles with severe body dysmorphia due to it. Our boys are going to see them later on, but not before it's too late... 
> 
> Please leave a comment and talk to me :) 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is the aftermath of their encounter harder on Jess or Steve and Bucky?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> PTSD-like panic and depressive thoughts on several occasions, dirty talking and mentions of urine and non-con touching. 
> 
> Please leave a comment, I LOVE talking to you guys! :D

Pieces were falling. The mirror was breaking. The glass was shattering. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t feel anything but his touch burning, _seething_ on your skin, leaving invisible marks all over. You felt his fingers between your legs, the coarseness of his fingertips grazing your folds even through your underwear. He was still there. You could still feel him. 

You fell to your knees with a crash of bones against the concrete, your body folding over with a sob. Hands gripped furtively at the ground for some kind of purchase, anything, just anything to save you from falling further into the tomb of pain and fear opening up beneath you. Tears wet the floor. Each drop landed with a loud crash as it splattered over the concrete, vibrating through the floor and into your fingers. Like tiny meteoroids quaking the earth. You could feel _everything_. It was all over. It consumed you. 

The loudest scream you’d ever thought was possible, sounded through your cell, ricocheting off the walls, echoing down the hall and away. Away from you. You screamed through the white static buzzing in your head. You screamed until there was nothing left inside.

You slammed your fists down on the floor, over and over and over, feeling the skin break and blood staining the grey and spreading with the tears. Pain erupted through your hands whenever they met the ground, breaking the skin more and more, but you kept slamming, kept slapping the cement, to feel anything but him. Even _nothing_ was better than the lingering stains of his touch, the echo of his words. You wanted to be so empty of emotion and thought that there was nothing left inside of you they could take away. But you could never make yourself so small, so insignificant, there wasn’t a piece left for them to take. There was always something left they could carve away at. 

Flashes of pain, memories of fear rippling through your mind like a slideshow of terror. Slide after slide of hurt and violation just going around in a circle. How it felt the first time Nate forced himself inside of you, breaking you, _consuming_ you. How he had stretched your walls beyond capacity, drawing blood and tearing as he moved. How his fingers had left bruises on your body from their unforgiving grip when holding you down, as you thrashed and tried to get away, trying to get him to stop. And how he had groaned in pleasure, grunted his release inside your body, marking you in the most horrible of ways. Your pain was his pleasure. The sounds he had made were ringing in your ears like bells on a tower. 

How you had managed to survive it was beyond you, but you doubted you could ever survive it again, even though you’d lived through it for years and years. Years of pain and torment, cuts and bruises and the never-ending blame of it all being your fault. That you deserved it. That you needed it. That you _wanted_ it. 

You had wanted him. Once. A very long time ago you had wanted him. You were young, and he was exciting and sweet. He cared for you like a good brother, like he was supposed to. He was so kind in the beginning, so charismatic. He could light up a room with a simple smile. Everyone who knew him wanted to be around him. He could draw a crowd like moths were drawn to a flame, his own warm, inviting light. He was intoxicating. 

But when your time alone began to increase, he started to change. He started demanding more, ordering you around, threatening to hurt you and hurt you even more if you told anyone. His light went from warm and inviting to intimidating and scorching. Once it started there was no stopping it. There was no stopping the pain, or the fear. You got burned. 

Somehow you always knew it was Nate’s doing. Even when it was his friends doing all the hurting, it was because he had told them to, invited them to it. They did what they did because he wanted them to. They wanted to keep him happy, cause he was just so nice when he was happy and got what he wanted. Even if that meant a world of pain for you. 

But this was different. These officers weren’t doing this because Nate had asked them to, or because he wanted them to. They did this _for_ him. They did this to punish you, to make you pay for your mistakes. For killing him. They were blaming you, just like Nate did. No one else had ever blamed you for your pain, said that you deserved it, that you had it coming. No one had ever played with you like a cat with a mouse, working up an appetite, getting ready to consume you whole. 

They were playing with you like a toy. Twisting and turning to find the right buttons to push and wind you up, only to let you go and watch as you walked yourself into a wall. There for their amusement. How far would they take their musings? Could it be left at this? This threatening of worse to come but in fact never would? Was it possible? 

Tap, tap. 

O.o.O.o.O

Jitters went through both their bodies. There was almost the sensation of butterflies in their stomachs, fluttering and flying around. It was more than any one of them had hoped for. Especially for Steve who had gotten his hands on you, had felt your body, your warmth on his fingers. They had barely made it through security and into the sanctuary of the bathroom without anyone seeing the state of them both, Lady Luck being very much on their side. The ride back up to camp had been tense, the air tight with words unspoken and restrained tension. 

Steve clenched his hand, moving his fingers against his palm as he remembered the softness of your body, the velvety touch of your pussy through the fabric of your panties. It went straight to his cock. Shamelessly, he palmed himself through his slacks, pressing the heel of his hand down hard before adjusting himself. If only Bucky wasn’t there in the bathroom with him, he might have actually taken a moment to relieve himself of all the pent-up energy. The lingering feel of your warmth was practically begging him to. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, fingers gripping the sink hard enough to turn his knuckles white with the pressure. 

He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself, tried to will his body to cooperate. It wouldn’t exactly be appropriate for an officer to walk around a women’s prison with a boner from groping an inmate. He wasn’t that kind of man, and certainly not that kind of guard. Really. 

Bucky chuckled as he dried his hands for the third time after washing them yet again, just to occupy his hands more than anything, keeping them busy enough to not go straight down his pants.

“Language,” he teased. 

That was usually Steve’s line for him, not the other way around. 

Bucky sighed deeply, feeling his shoulder sag down in relaxation. The echo of your voice was sweet like summer rain on sun kissed skin. The corners of his mouth tugged upwards at the endless loop of your pleas for him not to piss on your bed. The pureness of it, the sweetness. Such a contrast to the act itself. He was proud of himself for that one. 

Like Steve, he had trouble getting a hold on himself, the tightness of his trousers straining almost painfully against his hard cock. The men might have released some tension in an army tent surrounded by several other men, and might share a house where the walls were very thin indeed, but jerking off in a locked bathroom with just the two of them in it was a line neither wanted to cross. It was too close, too intimate. 

“God, I can’t fucking get rid of it,” Bucky grunted, as he too leaned against the sink with a firmer grip than necessary, head hanging down between his shoulders, willing his body to listen to reason.

“I second that,” Steve said with a sigh. 

“You even got to touch her. Jerk.”

Steve scoffed with a grin, watching Bucky through the reflection in the mirror. 

“Jealous?” he asked with a shit-eating grin. Not as good as Bucky’s, but good enough. 

“Fuck yeah, are you kidding? First a pat-down and then–” he closed his eyes and drew a harsh breath through his nose. “–Fuck! You had your hand down her fucking pants, man.” He met Steve’s all too happy expression in the mirror. “What she feel like?” he asked, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

Steve closed his eyes while exhaling with a puff of air. He shook his head. 

“So fucking good,” he huffed out. “She’s so soft it’s like running your fingers through velvet. Even through the underwear I could feel it.”

“Oh, yeah? Does she shave?”

“No,” Steve said with a slight headshake. 

“God, I love when they don’t shave it all off. I don’t wanna be fuckin’ a toddler, you know?” he said with a raise of a brow at his friend, who reciprocated with a nod. 

“I hear ya. Remember that redhead you used to bring around? The short one, with the 'molest-me-daddy'-voice? What the hell were you thinking there? She shaved everything.”

“She didn’t shave, she fucking lasered it off,” Bucky said with a hint of annoyance at the reminder. “Yeah, I don’t know. I must have been desperate or somethin’.” 

Bucky dragged a slow hand through his hair, setting it back in place from where it had fallen into his face. He was growing it out, liking it longer ever since he got out of the army and he didn’t have to keep it short anymore. Not too long though, the man-bun really wasn’t his style. 

“All this talk about sex and velvety pussies isn’t really helping me bring things back to sea-level, if you catch my drift?” Bucky asked with a smirk. “Does it show?”

Steve didn’t even need to glance down at his friends crotch to know that it was. 

“Yeah, it shows,” he said, standing up straight and pulling at his belt to test out the waters, so to speak. Still mount Everest. 

Bucky chuckled. “Man, we’re like two horny teenagers trying to hide rock-hard boners in slacks,” he said through a laugh. “Fuck!” 

He reached down to adjust himself for the fourteenth time, the graze of the zipper sending sparks of pleasure right to his core. Seriously, he could come without even pulling himself out in the open. He really was a fucking teenager. 

“Just think about something bad,” Steve said, trying to help both himself and his friend. “Like... cold feet, roadkill, pouring fucking bleach in your eyes, whatever turns you off.”

“Wow, that got dark,” Bucky said with a chuckle. “Sure you okay, Rogers?” 

Steve laughed along, knowing that last one was a little weird. But desperate times called for desperate measures. He’d think about eating kitty litter as long as it promised to get rid of his hard-on. 

“Just get yourself under control, alright?” he said. “We need to be in the rec room in like two minutes.” 

Steve ran the tap to get the coldest possible water, and splashed some on his face and wrist, trying to cool down. Bucky did the same, opting for the only thing left he hadn’t tried yet, that wasn’t the best solution and what he really wanted to do; jerk off. 

Neither said a thing, both simply waiting for the water to work its magic and quell the flames of desire. It worked. After several minutes of ice-cold water and the risk of frostbite on their hands and wrists, things settled in both body and mind. 

“Thank fucking god,” Bucky sighed in relief, tearing paper from the holder on the wall for both himself and Steve, chuckling as he did. “I thought I was gonna have to walk around hard all day.” 

Steve laughed at the reality of it. It was a close call. He hadn’t been so turned on in a long time, and poor Bucky had only gotten to watch. 

“Come on,” he said and threw his damp issue in the garbage. “We gotta take over from Mendez and Wilson. They’re probably wondering where we are.”

The rec room was booming with inmates. It usually was after breakfast, nothing new. It was quite entertaining actually, kept the officers on their toes. A lot of things could transpire, but if it didn’t there was still a great deal of entertainment provided. The Spanish girls were playing dominos, bickering in Español whenever they couldn’t agree on the points. The black girls were doing their version of charades, Crazy Eyes, or Warren as her real name was, keeping time by the clock. And the white girls, the part of Red’s family that didn’t work in the kitchen, were playing scrabble on their homemade board made from a cardboardbox Big Boo had found in the garbage. 

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” Mendez said when Steve and Bucky came walking in from the corridor. 

Steve bowed his head down with a smile, coming up to stand at the entrance beside the man, Bucky not far behind. 

“How you doin’?” Steve asked politely, planting his feet comforatably apart. 

“Can’t complain,” Mendez said. “Not a whole lot goin’ on, so can’t say I’m not relieved to leave it all in your capable hands, and go get me some fresh air.”

Mendez started walking out of the room, interrupted by Bucky’s voice. 

“You takin’ Wilson with you?” 

All three looked over at CO Wilson who was standing on the other side of the room, overseeing a cardgame. How exciting. 

“Hell no, he ain’t my partner. We don’t all couple up like you guys,” Mendez said with a laughter that turned quite nervous when meeting the other officers’ eyes. 

He cleared his throat to cover for his slipup. He didn’t mean to ensinuate anything, but he knew the ice was wearing thin when it came to Barnes, and he’d rather keep them both on his good side. 

“Besides,” he went on, ignoring his earlier comment. “He’s on mailduty today, with Bell and O’Neill. They can have him. Hey, Wilson!” 

Sam lifted his head at the call of his name, seeing the other officers standing by the door, Mendez clearly leaving and nodding his head for him to follw suit. He uncrossed his folded arms and started walking towards them. After his little encounter in the staffroom where Barnes had been on him like a fucking raging Pitbull, he had no intention of interacting with either men more than necessary. So he just nodded his head at them when passing. 

“Sam,” Steve said in acknowledgement as the other man left. 

Bucky stayed silent, just sighing in annoyance. 

“Calm down, Bucky. He didn’t say anything,” Steve said calmly. 

“They say silence speaks louder than words,” Bucky countered, earning a lovable chuckle from Steve. 

“You just have to find a reason to argue with the guy? Come on, he’s probably still a little freaked-out from your outburst the other day.”

“What fucking outburst?” Steve just continued laughing at the tone of Bucky’s voice, clearly aggitated. “You saying I have a temper?”

“Oh, god, yes! Just look at you. He just walked past you and you’re getting all riled up.”

Bucky exhaled loudly, trying to force the annoyance out of his body. 

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be if I’d gotten to relieve a little tension before coming here. How the fuck are you so calm? You were just as fucking hard as I was just a minute ago.” 

Steve bumped a shoulder into Bucky’s, getting a scolding look from the other man. Bucky looked at him annoyed. 

“What?”

“Keep your voice down,” Steve said low through gritted teeth. “You want the whole camp to know?”

“Oh, please. Half of these inmates would probably cream their panties at the thought of us with raging hard-ons in the bathroom,” Bucky said matteroffactly. 

“Yeah, well, it’s not really the inmates I’m worried about,” Steve said as he looked around the room to make sure no one was paying attention to their conversation. 

Bucky raised his brows, looking at Steve like he was something out of a cartoon or something. 

“Please,” he said. “If the administration’s got their eyes on anyone, it’s Mendez. Okay? We’re model fucking officers compared to that guy. They love that sadistic fuck, but if anything was to happen with an inmate, he’s suspect number one, I guarentee you that.” 

Steve nodded, defeatedly. He knew Mendez wasn’t up to code when it came to how he handled matters with the inmates. He knew he was dealing drugs, payed for in blowjobs most likely, but he wouldn’t put it past him to go even furhter than that. He wasn’t one to shy away from an opportunity if it presented itself. With Steve and Bucky it was different. It was personal. That made it different. 

O.o.O.o.O

A loud rattling woke you with a fright where you lay face down on the floor. Your face almost stuck to the sticky surface where you must have passed out from sheer panic, or maybe exhaustion. The growing stench of urine gave you a bearing on your surroundings, the cold ground a harsh reminder of where you were. The more you breathed the more you recalled the incident with the officers, your face crunching up at the stench of testosterone, dens in the air. 

Pain blossomed and spiked through your hands as you moved to a seated position. Stale blood covered the skin, creating cracks like a delta when you clenched your fingers. Your head felt fussy, heavy. Like it was filled with a gallon of water. A rush of gratefulness coursed through you at the sensation, as it blocked your thoughts enough to not let the panic set in straight away. Even a minute without it was heaven.

The red door was being pulled open, revealing another male guard. You moved to something like a crouch, anything to not leave yourself too exposed. The spark of pain gave a strong warning of needing to protect yourself. You couldn’t take anything more being done to you, psychically or mentally. 

The man wasn’t that tall nor that big, but his persona still read somewhat of power. He stood in the doorway with cuffs ready in hand, looking down at you. He wasn’t fazed by the state of you, clearly used to inmates getting into some weird shit when in solitary.

“Shower time,” he said, before the messed-up bedding drew his attention. He furrowed his brows and sniffed the air, regretting it when the sharp odour hit his nose. 

“Oh, fuck!” He covered his face with the crease of his elbow, looking at you accusingly. “Use the fucking toilet, ya nasty,” he said, his voice muffled by his arm. 

You followed his gaze over to the soaked matrass and blanket, the burn of tears prominent in your eyes at the sight, at the memory. How the new guard couldn’t put two and two together and smell the clear indication of testosterone in the stench was mind-blowing. He was clearly accusing you of wetting the bed. Last time you checked your testosterone levels weren’t high enough to cause that much of a reek. 

“I didn’t–” you started, but stopped yourself. 

‘No cameras’. There were no cameras in the room, and no proof of it not being your doing. And you knew he wouldn’t believe you if you claimed that two of his fellow officers had come in here to grope you and piss on your bed. He really didn’t seem like the type of guard to believe an inmate over an officer, but he did look like the type to run and tell should you try to clear your case. Better to not say anything at all, than risk having Peeve and Fucky find out and do even worse. 

“Come on, let’s go,” the officer urged, taking a step back not to stand in the stinking cell. 

You shot up, ribs complaining at the sudden movement. You hissed, slowing your movements as you stood. There wasn’t just the pain caused by bruises and scrapes, the floor was an unforgiving resting spot, and it seemed like every muscle in your body had turned to stone and strained uncomfortably when you tried to wake them. 

“Uhm... I don’t need to shower,” you said, taking a step back, wanting to keep the distance as much as you could. 

You had survived the looks, the touches and the threats of officers Rogers and Barnes. You body had already been invaded, violated in horrid ways, and couldn’t withstand any more. Though the haunting brushes of Steve’s fingers over your skin and most private parts you wouldn’t mind washing away. If it was even possible. They scorched their marks on you, holding on for dear life to keep you reminded of what could come to pass. 

The officer first gave you a stern gaze, then looked over at the bed, and the mess of it. His eyes spoke volumes, clearly indicating that you _did_ need to shower after making that mess. But he opted for the routine speech. 

“Inmates are required to shower at least two times a week, and today is shower day. Let’s go, Harper.”

You didn’t want to go with him, not a man. You didn’t want to hurt anymore.

“Are-aren’t there any female CO’s around? I-I have a right to a-a female officer in the shower.” 

It was a daring move, arguing with a CO, but you really didn’t want a male officer near you in such a vulnerable state, not if you could help it. The fight to persist was slowly dying out, and the salvation of cleanliness was luring you in. You wanted to wash. You wanted to be clean. As clean as can be anyway. 

“No, there aren’t,” the officer said. “And even if there was, we are under no obligation to comply. This is solitary confinement, you take what you get. Don’t make me come in there and drag your ass out.”

The man didn’t look all too pleased with you, and you really didn’t want to know what being dragged out of your cell felt like. With slow, shuffling steps you walked over to the officer, your aching knee arguing. He raised a questioning brow at the limp, but didn’t ask. No one ever seemed to ask. 

“Hands together,” he said, and readied his cuffs. 

You did what he said, grateful to have your hands cuffed in front of you and not behind. It allowed for some protection against assault should there be any. Though, this particular guard didn’t seem all that violent. You just hoped it would stay that way even when your clothes came off. Did he know who you were? Did he know who Nate had been? 

The unrelenting steel around your wrists dug in as you moved, and the flashback of it being officer Rogers hands cuffing you threatened to surface. The coarseness of his fingertips, all too gentle in their grazes, before turning demanding, hurtful, _lusting_. 

You drew a shallow breath, releasing it shakily. Stay here, Jess. He’ll be gone soon. The water will cleanse you of his touch.

The showers were empty. There was only one inmate at a time, for safety reasons, so at least there’s that. You had been handed a clean towel from a bin, and a new set of clothes and underwear from yet another male officer. Thankfully, he left it at handing things out, and didn’t come with you to the showers. It was just you, and officer Barton. 

CO Barton released your hands and told you to strip by the bench opposite the showers. He was standing just a few feet away with his arms crossed menacingly over his chest. He looked like he was in no mood to argue, but it wasn’t as intimidating as Rogers or Barnes. You had to try. 

“Are-are you gonna be watching me the entire time?” you asked, feeling tears sting your eyes. 

Showering with an audience was torment enough, scars and marks on display, but to do it with a single male officer present was proving almost too much to handle. 

“Yep,” he said, not moving a muscle. 

Your entire body went rigid and goose bumps rushed to cover every inch of your skin. You had to get naked. In front of a man. There was no part of you that wanted to let you do this, but you felt the impending doom of a temper lost draw nearer, and you opted for the only other option to not have panic set in right then and there; do it quick. 

“Could... could you turn around at least? Please?” 

Your voice was timid, clearly afraid, barely louder than a whisper in the night. 

The officer sighed defeatedly, and turned to his side to only see you out of his peripheral vision. Tears began to fall freely, relief and gratitude soaring through you from the first and only kindness shown by a male guard. 

Your fingers were stiff as the ones of a corpse when ridding of the clothes keeping the story underneath hidden from the world. Your body fought your mind the entire way, and your mind was more than willing to get on that train as well. But you had to do it. You had to persevere, dare to hope that the officer wouldn’t harm you even though he could, the opportunity presenting itself like a flower opening up to a bee. 

You kept your back turned to the officer, trying to protect the most shameful stories. Your back could tell its own story, but it wasn’t the main attraction drawing attention at least. Wrapping yourself as much as you could in the coarse towel, you walked up to one of the cubicles, your underwear still on like always. There weren’t any curtains, nothing to shield you from view, nothing to protect you. You looked back over at the officer, who was still standing with his side turned to you. You suspected he could still see quite a bit of the ‘stories’ that littered your body, but he made no comment on it. Just hang in there, little flower. 

You hung the towel on the side of the stall, protecting your bare chest with your arms as much as you could. Soap and shampoo were already standing on a small shelf in the corner of the stall, beckoning you to hurry up and get on with it. 

Never once did you turn around to neither confirm or deny that the officer had kept his eyes averted, or stayed where he was, just living on the hope that he did. You could almost feel the scars burn and seethe on your skin, like they were calling out for attention. _‘Please look at us’. ‘Please acknowledge us’. ‘Please ask about us’._ Please don’t. 

Your skin reddened and blushed from the pressure of your fingers, eager to remove Steve’s invisible marks. Nails scratched hard where they could, leaving scrapes in their wake. The bruises, at first prominent and contrasting, now blended and faded with the tender redness caused by your own will. As your hand slipped beneath the hem of your underwear, a flash of memory hit like a lightning in your mind, quick and sudden. His fingers, his hand, his touch. You couldn’t stop it. Everything came up. 

You fell to your knees just as the first hurl worked its way up your throat and spewing its contents over the drain. The mush of whatever you had been eating got stuck in the cracks, before the water disintegrated it enough to let it pass. Your stomach contracted again, spitting out more bile, until nothing more came out, leaving you to dry heave till your oesophagus relaxed.

Officer Barton looked worriedly over at you. He couldn’t see much, but he gathered what was happening by the sound. He didn’t want to impose. You had asked him for privacy, and he had given as much as he was allowed, and any interference at this stage would probably do more harm than good. So, he left you to it. At least it was an easy clean-up. 

If your body was weak and aching before, it was shaking worse than an aspen leaf now. Your legs had trouble supporting your weight as you stood, despite leaning on the wall to keep from falling. Tears hid in the steady stream falling from above, the salt quickly washed away before it stung the gash on your face. 

Breathe in, breathe out. You’re here, they’re not. You focused on the splash of water showering over your skin, feeling the tracks left as they slithered down. Okay, one more try. 

With a generous amount of soap coating your palm and fingers, you reached down again, this time with purpose. Steve’s grazes had been light at first, their tracing gentle to begin with, before he had gripped you harder. So, you kept you pressure consistent, right between the two, and managed to clean yourself thoroughly, every haunting trace of his fingers gone, washed away. You released the breath you had unconsciously been holding, the hot air coming out in a quick, shuddering huff. 

Turning the water off with one hand, you hastily grabbed the towel in the other and covered yourself from view. Okay, you were clean, you were covered. It’s done. You’re done. 

Careful as to not trip on the slippery tiles, you walked back to the bench to begin to dress in the new and fresh clothes waiting there. The relief of having clean clothes to wear couldn’t be denied even if you tried, not after sitting on that awful floor, bloodstains all over and sleeping several hours in the old ones. Not after the... incident. The smell or urine had seeped into your hair, and the smell of the most basic shampoo was like a high-end perfume in comparison. Even the soap smelled like a garden of roses on your skin. 

“Were you in an accident or something?”

The sound of the officer’s voice startled you. It was soft, and low. Like when you’re speaking to a frightened puppy who just made a mess on the carpet. 

You knew what he wanted to hear, you knew what he was asking, and it wasn’t why you had thrown up. You knew what he had seen. And you also knew that he didn’t actually think that an accident had left all of those little marks here and there, and long, wide ones in other places. No one ever thought that after seeing so much of it. You knew he was prying for the story, but not wanting to be blunt. But you couldn’t care less about what he wanted. 

“Yes,” you said, and pulled a new bra over the towel secured around you. 

“When did––”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you interrupted before he could ask. “If that’s okay?” you added softly.

“Okay,” he nodded. “That’s fine.”

He turned his head away even more than before, not even spotting you in his peripheral vision anymore. With your back turned to him he knew you didn’t see it, but he could give you the relief of not feeling his eyes on you when you made quick work of dressing. 

The grass was greener on the other side. It was greener, cleaner and better. The glass didn’t seem as broken. The mirror didn’t seem as shattered. You didn’t seem that close to falling apart. If it was a fleeting moment, then you would enjoy it. If it was just here, in the steaming shower room with fresh clothes and newly washed hair, then you would enjoy every second of it. 

When you were safely tucked away in your new prison attire, long sleeved shirt warming you underneath the khaki shirt, you slowed down. You were covered, protected, and CO Barton hadn’t moved from his spot in the doorway. He was fiddling with his cuffs, twirling them around his finger as he waited for you to be done. 

“We’ll give you a new cell until we can get the other one cleaned,” he said when he placed the steel bands back on your wrists. 

You met his eyes, finding the green softer than it had been when he was scolding you for supposedly peeing the bed. 

“Thank you,” you said, voice even and strong. 

He smiled down at you, just a quick tug of his lips. It was more of a place marker than anything else. Something to show that he heard you. 

On the way back to the holding cells, CO Barton keeping a comfortable grip on your upper arm as he led you back through the maze of corridors, you passed a new guard standing by the counter to what you gathered was the intake, a female guard. Hm, guess it was just resistance on Barton’s part that led you to believe there were no female officers around. You could find the will to be mad, the man had been kinder than you’d ever expect. Officer Barton stopped to talk to her. 

“I’m moving Harper from B12 to B14. She’s... made a mess of the bed and it needs to be cleaned out.” 

The woman, A. McCullough it read on her blue shirt, looked over at you as she grabbed a clipboard from the counter. 

“What she do?” she asked, her voice smoky and rumbling, not at all what you’d imagine. 

Her blonde hair was tied back in a neat bun, controlled, much like her personality you’d expect. 

“The bedding needs to be washed, and everything scrubbed clean,” Barton informed. 

You looked down. Now both officers thought you had wet the bed, great. But CO McCullough didn’t make a snide remark like you thought she might, too focused on the clipboard in her hands. 

“She’s here for contraband,” she read out, looking up at you. “What was the contraband, inmate?” she asked. 

“A lighter,” you said. 

There was no use in telling the truth of its presence, no one believed you anyway. 

“Hmm, doesn’t seem that serious,” she said, and dropped the board back down with a slap on the counter. “Well, she’s been here four days now, and we’re running low on cells. Think it’s time to let her back up to camp?” 

What? Did you hear her correctly? Were they discussing your release back to gen pop? How green was this side? Was there a paradise lurking around a corner somewhere too? 

“Sure,” CO Barton said, his grip on your arm lessening profoundly. “Call camp and send for the van. I’ll bring Harper up to the parking lot. Let’s go, inmate.” 

You gladly followed the officer through the Max facility back up to the where the van would soon show. Anything to get out of this hellhole. Had it only been four days? It seemed a lot longer to you, even though you’d, thankfully, slept through the most part. How you hadn’t gone mad was beyond you, but the reality was that you hadn’t. You weren’t broken. Then it hit you. The reason for your restful nights and full stomach. The reason you’d thought SHU to be a blessing in disguise. Because of the absence of two people in particular. Officers Barnes and Rogers. Oh, no.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky are planning more evil doings...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight info-dump at the start, I'm sorry... The rest is a bit more focused on Bucky and Steve than Jess, but this was beggin' to be written! 
> 
> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Mentions of past doings, mentions of sexual assault.

The looks you received upon your return weren’t exactly pleasant, to say the least. The few smiles you got held a darker undertone, gloating and feeding on your misfortune. More often than not they zeroed in on the cuts and bruises still on your face, healing quick enough to not throb and ache constantly, but apparently still gawk worthy. 

You slid along the walls like a ghostly shadow, hoping to go unseen in the crowd of inmates. It was the weekend so no one had any work to go to, instead roaming the halls and rooms available like a late-night slumber party. Not only was it the weekend, and people had the day off, it was also visitation day. Names upon names were screeched through the static filled speakers, telling them they had a visitor waiting. 

Your name wasn’t called. It wasn’t going to be called either. There was only one number on your approved call-list, and he wouldn’t as much as pick up the phone should you try and call him, let alone set his foot in here should you add him to your visitation-list. Jared, Nate’s father. 

To say things turned sour between the two of you after Nate’s death was an understatement. He was the first one you had called that night, after the ambulance. He had showed up just before they rolled out his son’s body on a stretcher, dead. Killed. By you. He had held you for a moment, just for a brief moment you were allowed the fatherly love you hadn’t felt since your own father died in Afghanistan when you were nine. You were safe and sound in his embrace, for just a moment. That was the last time you had seen him. He had stayed with Nate’s body, even as you were taken to hospital to tend to your own wounds by his son’s hand. He had made his choice right then and there. No, Jared wasn’t going to be visiting. He was too busy grieving, and blaming you for his son’s death, which he was right to do. If only he could understand the circumstances. 

Your mother not visiting hurt a tenfold worse than Jared’s absence. It wasn’t her fault though, you knew that. Logically, you knew that. You knew she didn’t even feel the wrong of not visiting her only child in prison. But it didn’t take away the pain of it. When it had all began, the hurt, the cuts, the bruises, she hadn’t believed you. She didn’t see the truth, hear the facts you so futilely gave. No one had believed you, but to hear your own mother calling you a liar was indescribable. It broke you. Then, suddenly, she stopped worrying at all, stopped seeing the signs or hearing the bells tolling louder each day. Bells meant for you, not her. And you were too deep in you own pit of fear, and pain, and abandonment to see. She deteriorated too quick for anyone to notice what was happening to her, slowly lost in her mind and memory. Now she no longer remembered you being born. 

Alzheimer’s. It ate away at her memory, ate everything up like a starved parasite. Now there was nothing left of woman you knew, and loved. The woman you called ‘mom’. She had no recollection of your existence, no idea she had a daughter who longed for her mother, plagued by reality. When you were hurt, your mother wasn’t there. When you needed her to keep you safe, she wasn’t there to hold you. When you were sent to prison for murder after barely surviving the attempt on your own life, she didn’t even know you were hers to mourn over. She wasn’t there to fight for her daughter. She wasn’t there.

A selfish part of you wished she would have simply died in some freak accident instead of this. It was selfish of you to want to bury her, _need_ to bury her like you were forced to bury the life you had with her. You knew it wasn’t fair to think it, but that didn’t stop the wishful thinking of having gotten to just let her go. It would be easier, less painful. For you. For her, there was no pain, there was no loss that she knew of or could feel consume her like a tidal wave. In her mind, she was happy, she was in love even. She had her life ahead of her, adventures to explore and dreams to live, and no concept of time to tell her the truth. Whereas you were left to pick up the shards of your life with hands cut off at the wrist. A life so painful, so shattered it was left in smithereens. Abandoned. 

There was no one in your life. No mother, no father, no friends. Nate hadn’t allowed for anyone to get close to you, not if he could help it, and he made sure that he could. Everyone had abandoned ship when sighting the iceberg that was isolation, set on a collision course that would put the Titanic to shame. You were ramming yourself right into that ice, full steam ahead. Where the first tear had ended up was hard to tell. Somewhere along the line you must have suffered a tear big enough to sink you to the bottom in a slow, silent descend, unaware of your own drowning. Somewhere along the line. Somewhere. 

O.o.O.o.O

The B-dorm was loud and rowdy, Bucky could hear it even through the glass windows and closed door. The door behind him leading to the corridor was kept open to get some airflow in, since the D.O.C wasn’t really prioritizing air-conditioning. Prison was just as bad for the guards as it was for the inmates. At least in humidity. 

Bucky was sat leaning back in the creaky, worn-down chair, a crosswords puzzle in one hand and a pen in the other, casually flicking it between his teeth to add to the noise. Every once in a while, he’d glance up and out into the dorm, making sure things didn’t get out of hand. Talking, laughing and joking around was allowed, and so far, nothing else was going on. 

Steve came walking in through the door behind him, having been monitoring the hallways around the reception and arriving visitors for the past hour or so. Bucky made no impression of having heard him, but when Steve closed the door behind him to shut out the noise, he leaned his head back for a quick glance. 

“Oh, hey,” he said, getting back to his crossing of words and flicking of his pen. 

Steve grabbed the free chair from underneath the table, having been scooted away for more room to move for a single officer. He sat down with a loud sigh, fingers interlocking behind his head to rest back against. 

“I hate weekends,” he muttered. 

Bucky gave a huffing snicker, too caught up in the puzzle to look up. 

“Yeah, they’re loud,” he said, scribbling a new word down in 4 across. 

Steve turned his head to peek at the magazine, not letting his hands down. 

“How’s it going?” he asked. 

Bucky hummed. “Eh, kinda easy, kinda boring. But it beats walking the hallways up and down till your feet wear down.” 

He looked over at his friend with a grin, chuckling when meeting his tired expression. Steve couldn’t even bother to try and be mad at the unfairness of fatigue. At least things happened in the corridors. He’d handed out two shots already today. So what if his feet hurt a bit? It usually took a day or two to get back in the swing of things. 

“At least my ass won’t get flat from sitting on it all day,” Steve countered with a smirk, earning a smack of the magazine on his leg. 

“My ass isn’t flat, let’s get that straight right now,” Bucky said in an, obviously, sarcastically offended tone. “I am bootylicious.” 

Steve laughed, his torso jolting and jarring the tattered chair beneath him. 

“You don’t skip leg day, I’ll give you that,” Steve said, stretching his arms above his head before bringing them down to lean forward with his elbows on his knees. 

“Thank you very much for noticing,” Bucky pushed, smiling coyly. 

“You are welcome.” Steve exaggerated his words, punctuating each one mockingly. 

A comfortable silence fell between the men. Bucky had his nose in the puzzle, quickly working through it to get on to the next one. Steve sat peacefully next to him, glancing out across the dorm, watching it like it was some crazy reality show. He hadn’t quite expected to see you in his line of vision. 

“Well, lookie who we have here,” he said, dragging Bucky’s attention from his crossword to find you walking through the door, looking as skittish as he remembered. 

You hadn’t spotted the officers sitting in the bubble yet, mind too focused on the inmates in the room, who all quieted down at your arrival. Pretty much everyone gave you cold stares and mean looks. How welcoming. 

“I didn’t expect her to get out of SHU so early,” Bucky said, throwing his magazine and pen on the bench before him. “What was it, like three days?”

“Four,” Steve corrected. “Neither did I. I thought it was gonna be at least a couple of weeks before she was back up. Must be running low on cells, or something.”

You came further into view, your wet hair had dampened the fabric on your shoulders, and your unkempt strands tussled around your head. Bucky scoffed at the sight of it. 

“She must have showered,” he said through a laugh. 

“Who can blame her? That place reeked.” 

“Yeah, and you pretty much fingered her.”

Steve smiled when thinking back on earlier that day, and how mortified you had been when Bucky started pissing all over your bed. The tingle of your softness on his fingers came back to memory like a postcard in the mail. He unconsciously smoothed his fingers over each other. Both thought they’d had you cornered, not in any rush to visit you again while in lockdown. They had you away from the rest of the prison population, in private, where you were theirs to do with as they pleased, but now that plan was shot to shreds. Thankfully, for them, the SHU wasn’t the only place where cameras didn’t work. 

“Fuck, I thought we had plenty of time,” Bucky complained, running an irritated hand through his hair to set it back in place, after it had fallen forward. 

“Take it easy, she’s got plenty of years left,” Steve assured him, still prowling, waiting for you to look back. 

“Yeah, but opportunities are passing. Before we know it, we’ve passed up too many of ‘em. Fuck! I had so many ideas.”

Bucky bit the side of his fist in annoyance, glaring at the back of your head. So many of his plans and ideas left unravelled. It wasn’t fair. You deserved every bit of pain coming your way for what you had done. 

“You know,” he started, voice tight but calm. “A memory popped up in my phone last night. Of Millers.”

Steve looked over in surprise, waiting to hear more. 

“It was game night, the second one he was over for, I think. He had brought those grilled chicken wings from town, that Carl’s place, or whatever. It was just the three of us, a bucket of wings, few bottles of beer, you know, just hanging out. Made me miss him a little bit,” he confessed. 

Steve looked away, taking it in. He missed Nate some times too. Not all the time, but on some occasions. He was a happy-go-lucky guy, and he brought wings for game night, even though they said he didn’t have to bring anything. Sure, he made some snide comments from time to time, was a little too easy to anger for some people, but mostly he was just easy-going and a hard worker. Neither himself nor Bucky ever had a problem with him, though Steve could understand why some people might. But what he could never understand, was the reason you had to kill him. He wasn’t _that_ annoying. 

“Yeah,” Steve said after a while, still watching you intently. “Me too.” 

Taking another unsure step into the dorm, you briefly turned your head to see what officer was in the bubble, more out of routine than actual apprehension, but you wished that you hadn’t. Not only was it officer Barnes, but Rogers as well. Both men were watching you, and neither had a happy expression on their face. Their brows hung low, casting dark shadows over their eyes, and their jaws were clenched hard enough you could cut marble on the bone. 

You averted your eyes in a flash, quickly walking away from their gazes and through the crowd of inmates to get to your cube, all but bolting to the bed. Your chest strained with every breath, tension high. You felt like you were a rabbit, and everyone else the hunter. There were no trees or rocks to hide behind, it was all open land and a spotlight hanging over your head. ‘Here I am, come get me!’. Almost had you missing the solidarity of SHU, if only it was safe from the guards, and you doubted anything was. 

“Fucking bitch!” Bucky spat out, slamming his fist down on the desk, jarring the pencil stand and knocking it over. 

“Lang–” Steve started.

“Don’t say it! Don’t give me that crap, Rogers. You’re just as fucking angry as me, there’s nothing wrong with letting it out.”

“Yes, there is, when letting it out means cursing and shouting while in the workplace,” Steve pointed out, earning a deep exhale from Bucky trying to get his emotions in check. “I feel just as strongly about her as you do–”

“Really? Could have fooled me.” 

Steve gave it a second, allowing Bucky some time to reign himself in. Bucky knew that Steve too felt angry, pissed off even, but that didn’t mean he had to go off like Bucky did just to prove it. They had both shared ideas, plans, fantasies, about you and what they wanted to do, Steve included. Hell, he’d even been the one to bring it up most of the time. He had been more than vocal in his sharing, but there was a time and a place for it. 

“I want her to suffer just as much as you do, Bucky,” Steve said firmly. “I too want her to pay for what she did to Millers, but letting my emotions run away with me isn’t gonna accomplish that.”

“I know, I know,” Bucky said with a raise of his hand to stop Steve’s lecture. “I’m sorry, Stevie. I’m just... I feel left out.”

Bucky looked down at his hands, leaning forward to slowly slide them over each other in slow, warming strokes. Steve furrowed his brow. 

“What do you mean?” he asked softly, uneasy about potentially having hurt his friend in some unspoken way. 

“You know... You got to touch her, Steve. I mean, you had her completely at your mercy against that wall. And not only did you pretty much slap her ass, you grabbed her tits and put your hand down her fucking pants. You even described how her pussy felt, for fuck’s sake!”

Bucky sighed in relief at the release of the words, closing his eyes and breathed deeply. God, he wanted to be the one to touch you like that, the one who did the describing to Steve and feeling your softness on his own fingers, and not the one living through it vicariously. He should have seized his opportunity when he had you against that washing machine. You had been so helpless, practically begging him to.

Steve sighed to contain his snicker, knowing where this was coming from. He felt the tug at the corners of his mouth, begging to be let up.

“Sounds like someone is a bit sexually frustrated,” he said with a lopsided smile. 

Bucky looked over at him, initially annoyed by the comment, but when meeting his fellow officer’s familiar, sympathetic smile, he couldn’t help the rising blush covering his cheeks. It wasn’t untrue. 

“Shut up, punk,” Bucky said with a growing smile on his face. “I’m not some horny teenager who can’t keep it in his pants.” 

He said it more to ensure himself of that rather than Steve. 

“Oh, really,” Steve said baffled. “Could have fooled me with that tent you had in your pants just a few hours ago.” 

Both men laughed, the mood lightening and clearing any negativity that was. Bucky felt better after airing some feelings out, even though he was pretty much laughed at. He knew Steve wasn’t spiteful in his words, and that they did hold some truth to them, no matter how badly he wanted that to be very much untrue. Plus, Steve had just been as bad. But they were abruptly interrupted by officer Donaldson’s voice coming through both their radios, the noise loud and echoey in the small room. 

_“We have a code 13 in corridor D. I repeat; a code 13 in corridor D. Personnel needed to clear out the cafeteria and connecting rooms and corridors. Do you copy?”_

Steve and Bucky looked at each other, both as baffled as the other by the message. Who had gotten themselves in such trouble? And got caught in the act most likely, by the sound of it.  
Bucky was quick to reach for the com-radio sitting on his shoulder. 

“Barnes here. Rogers and I copy. Do you need any assistance or are you covered?” 

Both waited for an answer. There might very well be other officers already on scene, but if not, they were more than happy to assist. More correctly, both were curious to know what officer got themselves caught in the honey jar. 

A static was heard through the radio, before CO Fisher’s soft voice was heard. 

_“Uhm, Fisher here,”_ she started, clearly uncertain about what to say. _“We could use a few more officers here to... help with the inmates and... uh... escort officer Mendez from the perimeter.”_

Mendez. Steve and Bucky shared a charged look with each other as they listened intently to Fisher’s words. They had talked about this very situation mere hours ago, and here it was now. Neither were particularly surprised to hear Mendez’s name in the situation, obviously, but the seriousness of the event sent sparks of adrenaline through their bodies. 

This time, Steve reached for his radio first. 

“Rogers here. We copy. Proceeding with officer Barnes to corridor D, leaving B-dorm unattended.” 

Code 13. That was sexual assault by an officer. Officer Mendez in this case. Both Steve and Bucky knew of his illegal distribution of drugs to several of the inmates, and how it was being paid for, but it still came as quite a shock to them both to actually hear the code being called. And kind of disappointed, if they were being honest. They had Mendez pegged for a guy who liked his job, comfortable in his position of power. They had thought he would be more careful than this. And to get caught in corridor D meant he was fucking someone in the broom closet. That was just plain stupid. 

The inmates were mumbling accusing words and, most likely, made up details as both officers approached the corridor in which they were needed. CO Fisher was looking apologetically at an inmate, Dayanara Diaz by the looks of it, and indicating for her to follow her, to medical most likely. Diaz seemed quite calm, gratefully following Fisher to wherever they were heading. 

Joe Caputo, the captain of the guards, was standing further down the hall, looking fuzzed in his brown suit. His hands were jumping from his hips to his face and what was left of his hair, only to go back down again. His gaze was snapping feverishly around the corridor, looking worried, and with good reason. Caputo nodded his head at the men when they came close. 

“Ah, gentlemen,” he said, his voice edgy. “I’ve asked Donaldson and Wilson to remove officer Mendez from the building,” he said with a raise of his hand in the direction of the exiting doors. 

They looked to the end of the hallway where Mendez was being escorted by said officers at his sides, their hands secured to his arms in a most likely faint grip. It was probably more for show for the admin than anything else, not many of the officers would ever blatantly embarrass a fellow officer in such a way if they didn’t have to. Even in circumstances like this. 

“I am forced to put Mendez on ice, as you might understand,” Caputo continued, to which both Steve and Bucky nodded apologetically. “I’m sorry, I know he’s a fellow officer, but...” he threw his hands up in ... “I caught him in the act, and the inmate is being taken to medical as we speak, I have no other choice. You understand that right?”

Joe was worried about offending any of the officers left to clean up the mess, and did not want to be caught on anyone’s bad side. It was enough to deal with the chaos already created, he didn’t need to bring any more of it to the warden. 

“Yes, sir,” Steve said as Bucky nodded along, letting Steve speak for both.

Caputo nodded. “Good, good. I, uh... I need you to calm things down with the surrounding inmates. Make sure they are ensured about this being an isolated incident and that we have removed the officer responsible for this... infraction. And, and please come see me in my office when you are done, I’ll be... I’ll be in my... office.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve said, and started towards the cafeteria entry where most of the ogling inmates were stood. 

“Right away,” Bucky said and headed for the rec room to start clearing inmates. 

“Good, great, thank you,” Caputo said and hurried off looking hazed and... was that a blush? 

Bucky gave a slight knock on the door to Mr. Caputo’s office. It was more of courtesy since both him and Steve had been asked to attend. Joe was standing by his desk with his reading glasses on, looking through the sea of papers mounded on his desk.

“Ah, Barnes, Rogers,” he said, removing his glasses to keep his hands busy. “Come in, please.” 

They did as asked, both planting their feet wide apart with their hands behind their backs, an act etched into them from years of military service. Caputo gave a slightly nervous scoff at the action. 

“Oh, please. At ease,” he said uncertainly as he waved a hand, and both men relaxed their arms. “I, uh... Mendez is going to be taking a little... temporary leave without pay. I can’t fire his ass without the authorisation from Fig, and she is fighting me like a bloodthirsty vampire on this.” 

Mr. Caputo slumped back down into his chair with a tight grip on the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly and hard enough to ruffle some of the papers on his desk. Natalie Figueroa, the assistant warden, Caputo’s sworn enemy and a walking headache in human form. Even if that form was wearing tight skirts and high heels and looking fine as hell, she was still evil incarnate for trying to bury the story more than Mendez. 

Caputo looked up, finding the officers waiting patiently for him to continue. 

“Sorry,” he went on. “This isn’t your problem, it’s mine.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Bucky said. “But if an officer is caught raping an inmate, it’s all of our problem.” 

Caputo slowly nodded, a faint smile spreading his cheeks at the reassurance. The true intentions of Bucky’s words were left in the dark. 

“Yes, I suppose it is. And even more so when that officer was working the nightshift for the upcoming days.” 

Steve understood where this was going, and decided to interrupt before Caputo could go on. 

“Sir, I just got back to the dayshift today,” he said, hearing the slight tension in his voice, despite trying his best. “I can’t work tonight too.”

Caputo held up his palms and shook his head apologetically. 

“Of course not, Rogers, of course” he said. “I wouldn’t even ask. We’ll get a body in from down the hill to cover tonight’s shift, they’re used to being short-staffed, they’ll survive. And apparently, they run a tighter ship than we do here,” he said under his breath, but knew the other men could hear him. “But without Mendez here, I need someone to cover the upcoming nights. And apparently CO O’Neill had an emergency trip to Jersey he had to make and can’t come either, so I’m short two officers for three nights, starting tomorrow.”

He waited a second or two, but neither Barnes nor Rogers spoke up, both looking at him with expecting faces. If they were going to be working extra shifts, they would need to be wooed. 

“You’ll be compensated, obviously,” Joe added. “And you get to leave right away to make up for the time difference.” 

Steve turned to Bucky, greeted by a raised brow and a slight nod to his head in affirmative. Steve could pretty much see the wheels of Bucky’s brain turning and working their magic, new ideas popping up in his head when the SHU turned out to be a bust. Steve just had to trust it. 

“Okay,” he said with a quick nod of his head. 

“We’ll cover for ‘em,” Bucky added, to make sure they were all on the same page. 

Caputo sighed in relief and leaned back against his headrest. 

“Thank you, thank you,” he said and stood, placing his glasses on his nose once again. “You’re really saving my ass here.” 

Bucky chuckled. 

“Glad we could help.” 

Bucky walked out the door with Steve on his tail, walking with a slight bounce in his step and a pride in his back. Steve wasn’t quite as blatant about the whole ordeal, the jitters staying hidden until they were out of sight. 

“You do realize how lucky we are, right?” he asked when Bucky opened the door to the men’s room to talk in private. 

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Bucky said, crossing his arms over his chest and just waiting for Steve to start doubting. He was always overthinking things. 

“Oh, really? What, this is your doing somehow?” Steve asked cynically, mirroring Bucky’s stance from across the room. 

Bucky snickered. “No, but the universe is clearly on our side, on the side of justice. Think about it, Steve. The admin has their work cut out for them, weeks of damage control ahead, Caputo and Fig especially. The press is going to be on their asses whenever they step foot outside this prison, asking about Mendez. They have no time for minor infractions, and they are convinced the bad seed is out of the prison, and will assure the press of that too, therefore not batting an eye at any of the other officers. And then they just hand us the nightshift like a steak on a platter, which is even better than the SHU. We’re doing this.”

Steve listened intently to the words coming out of his mouth, agreeing completely when hearing them out in the open. The lights were beaming down on one officer, and one officer only, and he had drawn enough attention to keep it for weeks to come. And the nights were the most private, the most secluded. Less officers, less inmates awake, less eyes overall. No wonder Bucky didn’t hesitate to accept the offer, he had a sharp eye for opportunities. And he was not going to pass up another one. 

Bucky bit his lip in the wait for Steve to agree, which he knew he would. He wasn’t stupid, the smorgasbord was practically presenting itself and begging them to dig in, he wouldn’t pass up a chance like this. 

Steve met his eyes, a widening smile on his face, just as bright as Bucky’s. He was right. He was absolutely right. 

“Better get some rest, then.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm...

The officers had gone AWOL. You’d kept an eye out for them all day and you hadn’t seen either of them, and it was closing in on lights out. They had been in the bubble, looking pissed when seeing you, and now they were gone. This couldn’t be good. This really couldn’t be good. You were slightly eased by their absence because, well, they were absent, but it felt like the calm before the storm for some reason. You tried to shake the feeling, and focus on the threats that _were_ present instead, but in the back of your mind, things were growing crazy with questions. 

Everyone around was making ready for bed, but you hadn’t moved from your perked position on the bed, unless you had to. You kept a keen eye out for any hunters trying to get to the rabbit, but none had come. There were still looks being shot your way, but the shooting ended at that. You hadn’t even tried for dinner when the time came, pretty sure you weren’t going to get any. Hope was still burning that the involuntary hunger strike would end soon, but you weren’t about to press your luck on the first day back in gen pop. 

Gina came walking in from a neighbouring cube, looking uncaring when spotting you. 

“You’re back?” she asked, probably out of courtesy more than anything else, and started digging out her toiletries from her locker. 

“Yeah,” you said. Kinda obvious, wasn’t it? 

“That was short,” she said into her locker, her voice bouncing off the metallic walls. 

“Yeah, guess I got lucky.” 

She stood up with her things in hand and grabbed her towel hanging from one of the hooks. 

“So I’ve heard,” she added, and walked out with a pep in her step, scurrying like only she could. 

Wrong thing to say, Jess. Fricking foot-in-mouth disease. You really should choose your words more carefully. You’d only just gotten back from the sunny vacation from down the hill, one piss-smelling traumatic experience richer, and already you’re adding fuel to the fire. Though, you suspected a lot of the inmates had been adding both fuel and gasoline and possibly a whole damn forest of logs to that fire in your absence. It must be burning like a witch’s stake by now. Now all they needed was the witch. 

But CO Rogers was back on the dayshift so... there’s that! Now you just had your fellow roommates to worry about stabbing you should you try and sleep. Your body felt heavy with stress, but the exhaustion was eased from getting several good nights, even days, down in the SHU. At least something good had come out of it. You hoped that the treatment officer Rogers had given you when cuffing you after he searched your cube had done something to ease back the rumours of any favours being done in either direction. But people usually only saw what they wanted to see. 

Another count, then the lights were dimmed to the lowest setting, covering the whole dorm in a comfortable gloaming light for the night. Everyone quieted down. Silence lay steadily against the cold concrete, only soft snores and mumbles being heard from a corner here and there. 

CO Bennett was on duty tonight, checking the dorms and counting sleeping heads. Whenever he passed you, he gave you a concerned look, a corner of his mouth twitching up to show his sympathy for the lack of sleep. He had seen the state of you when Peeve had brought you to the van after the tumble you’d taken down the stairs, even verbally uttering his concern to the fellow officer, who of course shut it down dismissively. By the look he gave you, he seemed to assume those injuries had been dealt by the hands of your fellow inmates, and also assumed it was the most likely reason for your still awake state. 

The officer stopped not far from the doorway to your cube, looking around to see if any of the other inmates were listening before he whispered to you. 

“Trouble sleeping?” His tone was kept light and inviting, not a string of intimidation in it. 

The sound was still loud in the quiet room, quickening your heartrate just enough to feel it thumping in your chest. You looked over at the officer, noticing his insecure smile and bouncing gaze, not sure whether to look straight at you or around. But he made no move towards you, nor did he seem to be angered or upset. 

“Yes, sir,” you said in a hushed tone, looking down at the floor by your bed rather than keeping his gaze. It was never a good idea to tempt fate like that. 

Bennett nodded to himself, fiddling with his belt to occupy the silence that fell between you.

“Well,” he said lowly. “Hope you get some rest soon.” 

The officer walked on with the steady clicking of his counter, before disappearing out into the hallway to check the other dorms. And on like that it went, like a merry-go-round; he came in, counted, looked at you with the tug of an apologetic smile, and walked out. He didn’t speak to you again, and you had never moved an inch from where you were sat when he came around the next time. It was like an endless loop of uncertain tension where neither of you knew what to make of the other, so instead just opted for uncomfortable silence. It was going to be a long night. 

And it was a long night. Every hour passed by so slowly it was a miracle the clocks didn’t stop altogether. But when morning came and CO Bennett was replaced by CO Donaldson, another thorough, but more closed-off officer, time started ticking by. Inmates started stirring in their bunks, some hurrying off to the bathroom before it was occupied by everyone else. 

You had already been, just after 5 am when inmates were allowed to leave their dorms. You had even dared a shower, surprise, surprise. Even though you had made quick work of it, you had made sure to wash your private parts extremely thoroughly, the ghosting trace of CO Peeve’s fingers still haunting your flesh. You wanted to be rid of every memory of his touches. Usually you let at least a day pass between showering, not wanting to see or feel the state of your body, but after an invasion like that, you’d rather live under a steady stream of boiling water and soap than pass up an opportunity to get clean. 

Before the food line got too long, you thought you’d try your luck for something to eat. You kept a close eye out for both officer Peeve and Fucky, but they were still AWOL. Did they have the day off perhaps? The hairs at the back of your neck stood at attention, foreboding something else besides a ‘yes’ to that question. But you forced yourself to focus on the now, and the problems at hand. Like eating for example. Cross _that_ bridge when you get to it. 

When you got to the cafeteria Gina was there. She was standing behind the glass, serving, still not noticing you. Most of Red’s family were there, some worked in the kitchen along with her, but the others were sat at a table talking. Even Nicky had made an early appearance. You felt a pinch of sadness in your chest at the sight of her, laughing and joking with her friends. Her family. And you weren’t there. You wanted to, you really did, but you also didn’t want to get her, or anyone else, in trouble should the officers find out. That was a risk you were not willing to take. Collateral damage Nate had called it. Collateral damage to get what you want. Not if you could help it. 

You walked up to the counter, a few inmates ahead of you and behind you, all waiting patiently for their turn. Gina raised her gaze, only to find you standing in front of her, with an apologetic and hopeful look painted across your face. She looked back down, scooping some extra eggs onto the tray, and held it out for you to take. She still didn’t look at you, just waiting for you to take it and walk away. You gratefully took it, smiling dearly at her when you did, despite the slight twitch of pain to the cut on your cheek.

“Thank you,” you said to her, but made sure Red heard you as well from where she stood overlooking the exchange. 

She didn’t look mad, or upset in anyway, but she also didn’t look all buddy-buddy. She was a tough woman to read, but you remembered Nicky saying you weren’t on bad terms with anyone in the family. You just hoped it had stayed that way even after those pesky rumours started going around. 

You ate your breakfast in peace and quiet at your own table. No one sat down with you, which you were kind of grateful for anyway. It didn’t ease the awareness of everyone’s whereabouts, or the feeling of having everyone’s eyes on you (with not so kind looks), but it did give you the space you needed. If someone got too close, goose bumps rose like an armour on your skin. You were on constant alert, which was tiresome as hell. And you severally doubted that the day would bring anything else but more hyperawareness and aching muscles, and a very sore butt from sitting like a perched hawk on that thin matrass. You could only hope the clocks kept on ticking.

O.o.O.o.O

The tv was loud in their shared living room, a rerun of the past Friday’s football game on. Bucky sat reclined on the couch with nothing but a pair of sweatpants on, the hem darkened by the few droplets of water remaining after his shower, and resting a bare foot up against the coffee table before him. In his hand he held a cold light beer, trying to calm his nerves. Usually he never drank before work, light beer or no light beer, but today he really needed it. 

Steve came walking in to the living room from the bathroom down the hall, freshly showered and with a towel around his waist, glistening droplets of water traveling down his toned chest and abdomen. Both had been to the gym earlier in the day, like always, despite neither having gotten that much sleep, but they really needed to keep busy. Unruly nerves tingled in them both, and nothing kept their minds as busy as a good session in the gym. 

Steve walked up to one of the armchairs beside the table, effectively knocking Bucky’s leg down on purpose when he walked straight through. Bucky gave him an annoyed look, and put his foot back up on the table with a bit more force than needed. 

“I’m sitting here!” 

“So I see,” Steve said and sat down with a loud sigh, taking a swig from his own bottle that Bucky had so kindly placed on the table for him, which he was kind of starting to regret.

Bucky rolled his eyes and tangled a hand into his still drying hair, letting it get stuck in the strands comfortably. He watched the screen, but payed no attention to the game being played, his mind elsewhere, lost deep in thought. Pleasant, happy thoughts. 

Steve wasn’t any better. Despite the few hours of actual sleep, harsh workout and almost half-hour long shower, he still couldn’t get his mind to focus on anything other than his favourite inmate and impending night. His mind was reeling with emotion and thought, scenarios and fantasies blending together in a mishmash of reality. 

They had talked it over so many times that it was slowly waring them both down if they didn’t get to it soon. Fantasies were no longer enough for either of them. Their patience was wearing thin, the wants and must-haves becoming almost too much to bear. Butterflies raced like fighter jets in their bellies, adrenaline was ready to be expelled into their bloodstream. They were nervous, excited. And, oh, so ready. 

“Did you jerk off?” Bucky asked out of the blue. 

“Bucky!” 

Steve wiped his mouth clean of the beer that had barely made it into his mouth, looking horrified and embarrassed by the question. Bucky was never one to shy away, he’d give him that. Always straight to the point. 

Bucky snickered into his bottle, and took a sip. 

“What? It’s a fair question,” he defended, noticing the rising blush of Steve’s cheeks. “So, did ya?” 

Steve gave him a look that would make anyone back the hell up if it was fired their way, but then it morphed into an even worse blush than the one prior, and he hid his face behind the bottle. 

“That’s a yes,” Bucky said triumphantly and chuckled. 

“You’re an asshole, you know that, right?” 

Bucky just nodded with a wide grin on his face. 

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “There’s no shame in it, Stevie. We all do it.” 

Steve looked up at his friend, searching his face. 

“You did it, too,” he stated, not surprised when Bucky gave a short nod in affirmative. 

“Sure did. Had to let off some steam. It was either that, or go another round on the punching bag, and I’m not sure my knuckles could take it.”

He looked down at his hands, noting the still red skin covering the area around his knuckles where he had hit the bag, no wrap to protect his hands. Which Steve had been quick to comment on, even in the gym. 

“That’s cause you don’t wrap your hands,” he said, yet again. “If you wrap your hands, you protect your hands. It’s simple.”

“Yeah, but there wasn’t time for that,” Bucky said nonchalantly. “I saw the bag, and I just had to hit it. You know how it is when you get an idea into your head, and that idea has a face, and you would much rather punch that face, but that face is still behind bars at work where you are not, but the bag is right in front of you, and then there’s no time to wrap your hands.” 

Steve just smiled and nodded during Bucky’s whole rambling session, which ended with a loud grunting sigh when he leaned his head back. 

“Fuuuuck,” Bucky groaned and pinched his eyes. “What time is it, anyway?” 

Time was moving so slow, too slow, for either men’s liking. They wanted to get to work, and the lack of sleep kept them both slightly agitated when time seemed to fuck with them on purpose. What made it all even worse was the fact that they had the late nightshift, which continued on into the morning, and didn’t start until six. 

“It’s 4,30,” Steve said when looking at the small clock sitting on the bookshelf beside his chair. “Or, 4,33 to be exact.” 

An hour to go before they could leave for work without being suspiciously eager. Hell, they worked at a prison, no one was eager to voluntarily lock themselves behind bars. And even when they got to work it would be hours before anything good were to happen, so in reality, they were more comfortable right where they were. At home. Where time didn’t go by. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Bucky said and leaned forward on his knees, his abs contracting at the slow movement, the burn of his muscles still prominent after the workout. “How ‘bout a pitstop at Wendy’s on the way? Then we get to leave here, feel like we’re doin' somethin' and maybe get time to move its fucking ass, _and_ we get to enjoy some delicious food.” 

Bucky felt like a kid where he sat all tense and excited. Or like he was back in Iraq. Like he was back in the war, ready to face the enemy head on and blow shit up. Yeah, that’s what he felt like. He looked over at Steve, who too looked like he used to when back in the desert lands. He was on high alert, eager and ready but still controlled. It was a thrilling feeling, and they didn’t even need to risk their own lives in the process. 

“Sounds like a plan,” Steve said, and chugged back the last of his beer, as did Bucky. 

Both got dressed in an eager haste, with fingers fumbling with belt buckles and buttons as they tried not to rush. It was hard though. Both knew what awaited them tonight, what new things they would get to experience, to dish out. They had mixed emotions about the whole ordeal, like a horror filled excitement pumping through their veins. Like when you take your driver’s test; one part is rambling on about everything that could go wrong, weighing the risk with the reward, while the other is too keen on the freedom and excitement to come that it’s blocks out any negativity and heighten the nerves, blending with the anxiety. Like a horror filled excitement. Like war. Something they were both very familiar with. 

Bucky stood by the door, flipping the car keys round and round in his hand as he patiently waited for Steve to get ready. His uniform was freshly washed, his shoes had undergone a scrub down and his black leather jacket was brand new. Overall, it was a good day. And it was about to be a very good night. 

Steve came through the doorway from the living room, fixing the cuffs on his uniform before grabbing his favourite brown leather jacket from one of the hooks. 

“You ready?” Bucky asked with assertion, and stopped jingling the keys. 

Steve drew a deep breath, only to let it out with a loud huff. He fixed the collar of his jacket, setting it in place and collected himself like the assertive correctional officer that he was. Like they both were. 

“Yes,” he said with a nod. “Let’s go.” 

For once, Bucky drove. It was his idea to go to Wendy’s, and a damn good idea it was, so he drove. He drove to keep his hands busy, he drove to keep his attention on something besides you, and he drove slower than usual to get time to pass. It all worked. They were kept busy, time passed and they got to enjoy some good food. 

Barbara at the diner, a middle-aged, brown-haired woman with freckles on her nose and crow’s-feet around her eyes, and who had taken quite the liking to the two handsome officers, treated them both to some of her freshly baked lemon meringue pie, free of charge. The young men were always so polite whenever they came in for a meal, or just for a coffee, and their bright smiles and handsome, rugged looks didn’t hurt the eye. They deserved some pie.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Bucky said when he rose from his seat and picked up a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and put it on the counter. “But we really have to get going now.” 

Barbara held up a hand and shushed him. 

“You don’t need to do that, young man,” she said in her southern drawl and slid the money back towards him on the counter. “It’s on the house.” 

Steve gave a soft chuckle as he too got up from his seat at the bar counter. 

“Really, Barbara,” he said and gave her one of his kind smiles, the kind that would make a woman go weak at the knees. “We do. You are too kind, and if you keep this up, you’re gonna have to roll us both out of here.” 

“Oh,” she said through a laugh, as a blush worked its way up her cheeks. “I don’t see that happening anytime soon, officer. Now you just take your coffee to go, and I’ll see ya both some other time. Don’t mind about the check. I got you covered, sugar.” 

Both Bucky and Steve felt some heat rise at the kindness shown and said, politely bidding their goodbyes. And when Barbara turned her back for just a short second, Bucky made sure to slide the money back across the counter, before they both walked out and headed towards new, unfamiliar territory. These nightshifts just keep getting better and better.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All hell breaks lose...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After about 15 hours of writing and editing, the chapter is finally here. I've read through it so many times I'm not even sure I'm sane anymore, and I can't see mistakes or errors either, so I hope it's actually good enough to be posted! The boys are dark, mean assholes in this! It's one long, angsty shitshow is all I'm gonna say... 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Okay folks, mind the tags and triggers!
> 
> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Explicit non-con, sexual abuse, bone breaks, destruction of mental health. In other words; a whole fricking shitstorm... 
> 
> Do not read this chapter is any of this triggers you, please take care of yourself!

When they got to work, they made sure to keep their distance. It was more of a way of teasing themselves than an outright attempt to spook you, though that effect wasn’t unenjoyable. Like a game of tag being played where only two players knew the game was afoot, and played by their own rules. 

They chose the postings where they knew you wouldn’t be, but from time to time they had to pass through the hallways, or guard the cafeteria where you were once again allowed to eat. The expression on your face when you saw them was enough to send sparks of desire through their bodies, going straight to their cocks as imagination ran wild. That doe eyed look of shock and fear fit so perfectly on your face, and that glint of tears starting to brim your eyes made them want to see them spill over in the most gorgeous cascading waterfall. 

For you, the experience was quite different. For you, the smirks and grins along with those leering eyes that seemed to be sewn on the officers’ faces today, sent different sparks through you entirely. They seemed awfully cheery and bright, their stature prouder and taller than normal, which was saying a lot when it came to the two towering men, who only seemed to be getting bigger by the day. You should feel more at ease when meeting a cheerful smile or two from the officers, but it only made your stomach flip and twist like it was tying a knot on itself. 

You kept out of their way all day and night, dread starting to fill you up at the realization of both men working the nightshift. That wasn’t supposed to happen! They must be short on officers after the incident with Pornstache. You hadn’t heard the whole story, seeing no one was actively talking to you, but you’d heard enough to understand that he wasn’t coming to work his shift tonight. He must have done something really bad if he was suspended.

You peeked around every corner like a toddler playing hide and seek. But you didn’t care how you looked, you just wanted to get to the bathroom and back without any interference. You managed to do so, feeling like you were imitating Gina with the way you scurried back to your bunk. 

You changed into the sweats instead of the khaki uniform, the cotton softer and gentler during the night, but provided just the same amount of protection from gawking eyes. The dorm was hot after the sun had beamed down on the roof of it the entire day, so you decided the white long-sleeved, cotton shirt would suffice, and left the hoodie on its shelf in your locker. You were left in your comfy sweatpants and only slightly stiff sweater, taking off the heavy boots to settle on your bed. This time you even lay down. On top of the covers, of course, for a swift getup should you need it. Plus, there hadn’t been a count yet, so you were bound to get up at least once more. 

Speak of the devil, officers Maxwell and Barnes came walking through the door, calling for everyone’s attention. 

“Stand for count,” CO Maxwell bellowed, her voice surprisingly sharp. She must be tired already. 

You followed the routine and stood outside your cube, not surprised when CO Fucky picked your side to count. His smile widened even more when he passed close to you, humming approvingly as he did. You cowered back, trying to get some space from the man, but knew better than to move away without an order to do so. Years of conditioning had left its marks. It was becoming ridiculous how easily these men made you fall back into old your tracks, falling back in line. Knowing your place, as it were. As long as that place kept you out of harm’s way, you were more than happy to stay there, no matter how ridiculous.

“Thank you, ladies,” Maxwell said through a sigh as she headed out. 

CO Barnes was moving slow behind her, turning his head back, zeroing in on you. You shivered as his mouth spread in a wide, bright smile. 

“Goodnight,” he said as smooth as he possibly could, and could practically see the lump wedging itself into your throat. Good night indeed. 

You hurried back into your cube and away from everyone’s leering eyes after the CO’s comment. Even though you’d seen the door shut behind the officer you couldn’t be sure he wasn’t going to be in the bubble at any second, and you’d rather keep out of his sight too. 

The bed felt softer when you lay back down. Or maybe it was your body growing stiff like cement under the beaming sun on some highway that made it feel softer. Whichever it was, it made for a confusing combo. You felt more tired than you had before; matrass or rigor mortis working its way through your muscle and bones? You felt more uncomfortable than you had before; matrass or the slow tune of a swan song? Or maybe just the fear of the officers. Could be that. Yeah, it was probably that.

An hour passed before any of the COs came in for a check. This time it was Peeve. His boots sent echoes of steps along the small corridor between the cubes, his footing slow and unhurried. He shined his flashlight at you, he looked over at you, he smiled at you, but he didn’t talk to you. But that didn’t stop you from seizing up like a corpse where you lay on top of your bedding, eyes fixed on the dirty ceiling to avoid having to face the man. Every time he came in, he just looked at you, but didn’t say a word. 

The same with CO Barnes. He came in, flashlight tight in hand to make sure the beds were still occupied, smiled at you and walked back out again. Another merry-go-round, but this one seemed ominous. Not the kind where laughter and joy was what kept it running, it just ran until someone stopped it. And they didn’t stop it. 

3 am. 3 am on the dot and the whole dorm was asleep besides you. Snores were louder, mumbles were heard from the known sleep-talkers, and beds squeaked when someone turned, but everyone was asleep. 

The door was opened, like it was every thirty minutes or so, nothing new. CO Rogers peeked his head in through the doorway, like he always did, nothing new. But this time he stopped. That was new. He even walked in, steps slow and quiet as to not wake anyone, coming up to you and shined his flashlight in your face. You scooted away as much as you could with one arm, the other coming up to block the light blinding you. Your heart was almost bursting in its cage of bones, trembles working their way through your entire body when Steve leaned down to whisper, 

“You’re needed in the laundry room, inmate. That washer hasn’t been fixed.” 

He straightened up but didn’t move away. He stood there, flashlight beaming down brightly on you. 

You let out a shallow breath, trying to find your words in such a low tone. 

“B-but... it’s t-three o’clock in the m-morning...” Your voice stammered and faltered as you looked up at the black shadow that was the officer behind the light. Surely someone else had fixed that machine by now, but you left that unspoken.

“Laundry needs to run in the morning,” he said, voice firm and ornery even through a whisper. “Let’s go.” 

He took a minor step back, minor, to let you get up. Shivers and shakes sent loud warning bells as you slowly stood from the cot which had kept you safe for so long. Tension and strain in your muscles burned as you forced your body to move, the officer walking slowly behind you. This wasn’t right. That machine must have been fixed already by someone else, and if not, they would have ordered you to fix it as soon as you got back. No, this wasn’t about some machine. This was something else. 

The officer’s footsteps were a mocking contrast to your own soundless steps along the maze of corridors leading down to the laundry room. The floor was cold and dirty, blackening your white socks with each step. You clenched and unclenched your fists over and over, arms heavy where they hung down your sides, shoulders up and rigid. Your airways were tightening up with each shallow breath you forced yourself to take. This wasn’t right. You knew enough to know that this wasn’t right. 

Steve moved you aside with a gentle push when you came up to the last gate before the laundry. Despite the mildness of the touch you still flinched. Gates that were kept open during the day to ease the flow of people coming and going were locked during the night to keep the inmates contained. You had passed three already, this was the fourth. Steve let you walk through, before following and locking it shut behind the both of you. 

He seemed nervous, you thought. Unsure, maybe? He kept looking around every corner, taking deep breaths and releasing them in loud sighs, and his fingers were fumbling with the keys as he put them back in the pocket of his trousers. Why was he nervous? You were fixing a machine. That was it, you were just fixing a machine. Right?

His demeanor changed when you reached the seclusion of the door to the laundry room, and he shoved you forcefully through. 

“Uh!” you gasped and stumbled, turning around to face the officer as he locked the door behind him. 

His eyes grew darker, menacing, as they fixed on you. You took a short, stumbling step back out of instinct and Steve just started marching towards you. 

“Wha–”

“Walk,” he ordered, grabbing your arm and pushed you forward, not caring whether you kept your balance or not. You did, but barely. 

Goose bumps prickled your skin, the hairs at the back of your neck stood at attention. Your breathing came out in short puffs and you barely managed to draw enough air to keep you going. This wasn’t right. This was definetly not right.

When you rounded the wall of machines splitting the room in half, successfully blocking the view and the way to the door, CO Barnes came into view and it all became clear as a summers day. 

He was leaning against one of the many tables of the room, his arms crossed over his chest per usual, one foot resting over the other and a strand of his semi long hair had fallen over his forehead. He was smiling, smirking almost, white teeth bared in delight. Had the situation been different, he would look like a tall drink of water who any woman would be lucky to get even five minutes with, but this was a different situation entirely.

You stopped like a derailed train, gasping at the sight of the second officer awaiting your presence. This was it. You knew this all too well. You didn’t want to admit it, you didn’t want it to be true, but it was. This was it. No!

You tried to turn around, tried to get away and run, but only found the strong arms of officer Rogers expecting the attempt, who grabbed you and forced you back around. 

“Where do you think you’re goin’, huh?” he mocked, tightening his grip around you even as you thrashed, trying to get out of his vicelike hold, his strong body keeping you pressed to him. 

“No, please,” you begged. “Let me go...” you voice betrayed you, turning into a puny sob.

The door was locked, as were the four gates leading back to the dorms, to people. You wouldn’t get far should you make it out of here, and by the tightening of Steve’s grip, he wasn’t going to let that happen. They had you cornered. 

Your vision was swimming with tears at the futile attempts to get free, trying to pry his arms off you, but it was useless. Steve didn’t seem to be bothered in the least with you trying to worm yourself out from his arms, kicking meekly at his legs as you started crying and whining.

“Okay,” he said sternly. “That’s enough.” 

With that, he all but threw you against one of the machines like you weighed nothing, like the struggle had been ridiculous in his mind. Which it evidently had been.

“Agh,” you gasped and grunted at the impact, fighting to stay upright even as the pain in your ribs came back, the crying not helping ease the pain.

This couldn’t be happening. You couldn’t be here, again. You couldn’t be in this mess, in this chaos that only ever brought you pain. They had you caged in. Steve was blocking the only way out of the laundry room, at the ready should you try anything again. And Bucky kept your other flank covered. You were caged in. They had you caged in.

“Please...”

You looked past Steve, to his side, debating whether or not to try and make another run for it anyway, despite the hollow hallways and locked gates, but he followed your gaze and thought. 

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, and you cowered, emitting another whimper as tears fell. 

The first attempt didn’t do you any good, only harm, so why would the second one be any different? You looked over at Bucky where he stood, scoffing at the remark Steve had made. 

“You’re not getting outta here before we say so, doll,” he said through a smile. 

Another useless whimper escaped you at the notion, you didn’t even try to stop it, your voice hiding away. This was all too familiar, and all too new. What were they going to do to you? How bad would this get before you got out? More tears fell down your cheeks as your jaw quivered. You didn’t want to think about the horrors you were about to succumb to. Anything but _that_. 

Bucky rose to his feet and unhooked the handcuffs from his belt. You shuddered at the sight, looking up at the man with teary, pleading eyes as he slowly walked up to you. 

“...no...” you said and slowly shook your head, not caring about the sprinkler of tears falling to the floor. Not cuffs, not defenseless!

“Yes,” he countered, flipping the cuffs in his hand and smirking down at you.

You tried to back up, to move the damn machines, anything to get away. But he kept stalking towards you, cuffs at the ready. His eyes were set, determined to get what he wanted, but you weren’t done trying to escape.

You took a swift step to the side to get away from the officer in front of you, only to get caught in the arms of the other one, again. Steve’s grip was yet again relentless, even as you started pounding your fists into his strong chest, digging your nails into his arms, whatever you could reach, while keeping your eyes on Bucky. 

“No, please! Let me go, please!” You begged and kicked and punched, but it was useless against his superior strength. 

Steve scooped you up and against his chest, holding you there until you started to tire yourself out. He maneuvered you around like you were nothing more than a troublesome toddler having a temper tantrum. And that’s when you saw it. 

A taser.

Both men chuckled when you froze, pressing yourself back into Steve to keep the distance with the terrifying gadget in Bucky’s hand, the cuffs in his other hand long forgotten. Bucky pressed the button to start the crackling of electricity, making you flinch with each fit. 

“No! Please, no,” you begged, trying to get out of Steve’s unyielding hold, trying to get away, but they wouldn’t let you.

“You ready?” Bucky asked, but the question wasn’t meant for you. 

“As ever,” Steve said, burrowing his fingers into your skin to keep you put. 

Bucky buzzed the taser again just to see you recoil from it, before he held the button down and pressed it firmly into your abdomen. 

“Wait–” But it was too late.

All your muscles clenched. Your body stiffened like a board as the electric current coursed through every fiber of your being, the pain mind-numbing. You lost all control of your body, going rigid against Steve where he held you tight, and you were glad for it. Had he not, you would have been a boneless heap on the floor.

Bucky removed the taser and the pain instantly went away. Your body went lax, your mind still foggy, your breathing rapid to get air back into your lungs, to get the control of your muscles back. 

“Ugh... ngh...”

The officers seized the opportunity

“Turn her,” Bucky said, and Steve complied, turning you to the side to give Bucky better access to both arms, efficiently cuffing your hands behind your back in a tight hold. 

You started coming back to, back to the present, feeling the sting of steel being tightened against your wrist. It was too late. 

“No, no, no, please!”

Sobs were shaking your body again like they never left, as you cried for them to stop, but they ignored your pleas. Bucky steadily worked the bands on, before Steve let him have you. 

“Please, stop, please!” Bucky grabbed a harsh hold of your hair to end the useless struggle, and craned your head back against his shoulder. “Ugh!”

The position was all too familiar; the officer’s hand firmly in your hair, and the opening of a washing machine staring down at you, edges looking sharp like blades. Please, don’t, not again. The wound on your forehead had almost healed. 

“Please? Is that what Nate said to you?” Bucky asked mockingly with a tight voice, and spun you both around only to let you go and have you crash into the wall on the far side of the room. 

With no hands to catch yourself, your side hit the wall with a loud thud, bones and muscles aching at the impact, but at least it didn’t break skin.

“Ugh!” 

You were breathing heavily, shallowly, lungs burning to draw even the slightest breath to try to calm yourself as the last traces of electricity were still leaving you. Everything hurt. Even the wet streaks on your cheeks were starting to itch and sting. More and more kept falling, but you couldn’t even wipe them away. 

Even though fear was the only thing coursing through your veins, even though everything you knew told you not to, you still raised your gaze and kept your eyes locked on the two men now blocking the only exit.

Both men watched you with their intentions reading clear in their eyes. Their fingers were twitching with the want and need to touch you, their blood running hot as it worked its way down to their cocks, getting harder by the second. Bucky shamelessly adjusted himself, easing the ache just a little, smirking when the action sent another wave of sobs coming from you.

Both Steve and Bucky took a few steps closer, adrenaline being fired through their bodies at the rush of control. This was it. They were doing it. Uncertainty hinted at the back of their minds, just a hint, but neither one listened to it. They didn’t want to hear that right now. This was their time, they had waited for this moment, planned it, and they were going full steam ahead on what they wanted to do, what they _had_ to do. No time for second-guessing. 

Your throat burned from crying, but you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop the tremors going down your spine and weakening your knees, and you couldn’t stop the useless tries to get out of the cold steel keeping your arms back and unable to protect you from their assault. If there was a god in heaven, now would be a good time for a rapture.

“Please...” you sobbed as they closed in, more tears spilling from your eyes. 

“Quiet,” Steve barked at you, making you flinch and whimper at the harshness of his voice, tears truly falling in that cascading waterfall they wanted so bad to see.

But it was nothing compared to the fear of when Bucky grabbed the nightstick from his belt and pointed it straight at your face with a smile. You shook uncontrollably when meeting his eyes. Eyes that were still as determined, eyes that were pleased at the fear shining in your own. 

You shrunk back, eyes tightly shut to block out the world. You wanted to just crawl into a corner and never come out, never have to face them. They couldn’t hurt you if you weren’t here. You tried so hard not to be. What you thought would echo in your mind were begs and pleas, but the only thing you could hear, the only thing you could say came out like a prayer,

“This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this–Ah!” You screamed when Bucky smashed the stick into the wall behind you, making you recoil again, sobs jarring your body.

“Oh, this is happening, doll,” Bucky said roughly, letting the hard plastic roam your body, circling your breasts, poking at the soft flesh. 

“...please...” came out through a sob as you tried to move away from his prodding, but he just pushed you back in place. “Ah...”

“What?” Steve said in a feigned concerned voice when you met his steely blue eyes. “You thought you’d just sail through your sentence? That you’d get out of murder scot-free?”

You leaned your head back to breathe, gaze jumping from one angry man to the other. Their jaws were set, Bucky even baring teeth when your eyes lingered too long. A hard _smack_ stung your cheek as he backhanded you. 

“Uh!” you gasped at the impact, sniveling as you looked down on the floor. 

Bucky poked you with the nightstick, forcing you back against the wall.

“Please, I didn’t m-mean to k-kill him…” you pleaded, hating how small your voice sounded, chest hiccupping from your endless sobbing. 

“No, I’m sure you didn’t,” Steve said, voice still forced. 

“You just managed to kill a man almost twice your size out of carelessness, right?” Bucky asked, voice sarcastic and mocking. “Just an accident?” 

“Please, it _was_ an a-accident, I s-swear.” 

The shaking of your body was impossible to hide, the officers looking more heated by the second. You recalled how Steve had reacted the last time you tried to clear your case. He didn’t have a staircase to push you down, but he did have fists and very strong arms, and the sting on your cheek was still very much present. But self-preservation wouldn’t let you give up. 

“He-he was gonna kill m-me. Please…” You bowed your head to hide away, hide your shame and your guilt and your fear. Hide away from them. 

“I’ve heard enough,” Steve said and turned on his heel. 

You were almost quick enough to let relief take over, breathing out in heavy gasps as you hoped Bucky would turn around and follow. That it was over. Bucky looked back at Steve with a smirk, keeping the stick close enough to graze you when he turned. To your despair, Steve only walked over to one of the tables with fresh laundry on them, and picked up a pair of folded socks. You knew where this was going. 

“No, no, no, please,” you begged as he came closer, steps as daunting as his expression. “Please! N–”

Steve forcibly grabbed a hold of your chin, digging his fingers into your cheeks and prying your mouth open to force the socks in to silence you. It efficiently stopped your begging, but worsened your crying as more tears wet your cheeks. The fabric was coarse against your tongue, the dryness choking. 

“Aah!” you cried through the gag, biting down on it, trying to eject it. The sound didn’t travel far but you just had to scream, had to let the fear out, praying this was all just some horrible dream. 

But it wasn’t a dream. The hands grabbing at you, Bucky’s hands, forcing your back against his chest were very real. You heard the loud clatter of the stick meeting the ground, before his hand came up and rested on your forehead to expose your throat, making it hard to swallow down the lump and wetness wedged there. The other hand squeezed your breast as he nipped and licked at the bared skin, pinching it between his teeth. 

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned into your neck.

You cried harder as his touches went from mere grazes to urgent handfuls of your skin, hard enough to leave bruises in their wake. 

“P’ease,” you managed through the gag, the sound muffled and distorted. “Aah!” 

You screamed and cried and wiggled in Bucky’s grip, but his grip was relentless. He held onto you, not letting you get out of his hands or do any harm to him or Steve. Not that you even could. Bucky was a whole head taller than you so even when you banged your head back, all you managed to hit was his chest or a shoulder. Whenever you twisted your body his hands just kneaded your breasts even more, the sensation painful and disgusting in his enjoyment. 

Steve watched as you struggled and twisted in Bucky’s tight grip, your tits jiggling just enough to be enticing. He reached a callous hand out to feel you through the fabric of your shirt. He groaned at the pillow-y softness of it.

“Let me have her,” he said, taking a step closer and biting his lip as he watched you squirm, not sure which man frightened you the most.

Your eyes were pools of water and fear, pupils blown wide as you tried to look back and up at Bucky when he chuckled, and leaned his head down to whisper in your ear, his teeth nipping at the shell of it. 

“Looks like you’re Miss Popular tonight, doll.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut and groaned loudly as Bucky handed you over to Steve like you were a new puppy to be held and loved. Like what they were showing you was affection. Your kicking and wiggling showed both men what you thought, but neither gave a damn.

“Ngh..”

Steve reached his hand in through the collar of your slowly soaking shirt to paw at your breasts, seeing your tied arms refrained them from lifting your shirt up, something you were mentally thanking whatever god would listen for showing you that mercy. His fingers grazed several scars, but he didn’t reflect on it, too caught up with the warmth of your skin against his palms, and the steady quiver of your body against his. 

“Mmm,” he hummed approvingly at the feel, wanting more. 

He reached down and into your trousers, pressing down with the whole of his hand on your mound, pushing you back against the evident bulge in his slacks.

“M-mmph,” you gurgled and shook your head feebly. 

Not that, no! Anything but that! You could take the touches on your chest, the licking of your skin, whatever hell they wanted to rain down on you, but not _that_. Anything but that. Please, just… anything…

Steve’s fingers dug in deep enough to hurt, the heel of his hand pressing down as his fingers slid further through your folds. He drew a deep breath to scent your hair, and licked a stripe on your cheek to collect the salt slowly falling down it. More fell in their wake. 

“I think she likes it,” Bucky slurred, his tongue coming out to wet his lower lip.

You hadn’t forgotten about the other man watching you intently as Steve molested your body, even though you’d tried to go somewhere else in your head, but you just couldn’t. It was all too much. They were everywhere, they surrounded you, smothered you in their presence.

Bucky slowly started undoing buttons on his shirt, glad to see your eyes snapping to him at the slow motion of his fingers going down. 

“Agh!”

You shook your head more violently as his shirt came off entirely, and the muscle hidden underneath came into view. Steve moved his head away just in time to not get knocked into, and laughed at the renewed fire. 

“Feisty little thing, huh?” he said as you kicked, almost comforted to see the fight in you, the fight they both knew you must have somewhere in you to be able to kill. 

Bucky was sculpted like a Greek god. Strong, hard lines of muscle covered his abdomen and arms, the expanse of his chest wide and powerful. Long veins wind up the length of his arms, bulging wherever he moved as he slowly undid his belt and let it fall to the floor.

The rumble of Steve’s laughter jolted your body. 

“You like what you see, darlin’?” he teased and ground his hand down harder into your vulva and squeezed your tit, and you began your futile struggle once more, crying harder by the second. 

“Mmgh… No…”

But Bucky just smiled proudly, slowly working open his fly. He knew he was the epiphany of a wet dream for many women, but he also knew the power his strong build exuded, and what damage he could do. And by the looks of it, so did you. Nate had been stronger than you, and greatly so, but these men were something else entirely.

“Mmm! Agh!” 

You screamed and cried the best you could through the gag in your mouth, and the officers just smiled down at you at your pathetic tries for freedom, for mercy. 

“It’s okay, you can look,” Bucky assured you with a soft, tender voice, as if shame was what refrained you from blatantly gawking, but you just shut your eyes even harder. 

You didn’t want to look, you didn’t want to see the man in front of you, the man who was getting ready to assault you. The man who was getting ready to hurt you in the most horrible way you could possibly imagine. 

Every time it had happened with Nate you came that much closer to being broken, to being shattered into nothingness. It ate away at you, taking one piece each time. But it was always him. It was always bound to him. This wasn’t. These men weren’t an extension of Nate, this wasn’t set in that world. You feared men because you saw Nate in them, you feared men because of what Nate had done to you, what other men could potentially do. But they never had. Not like this. Not in its own setting, in its own world. Not without Nate. And that was a million times worse.

As Bucky took a step closer, you tried to move back, cuffs and all be damned, your sock-clad feet slipping futilely on the floor. The strong body behind you could might as well have been a wall, if it hadn’t chuckled and forced you back to meet the assailant. 

“Now, now, none of that,” Steve said and squeezed you harder in his arms, ending your struggle as you fought to just breathe, nostrils flaring to draw air. 

“Mmgh,” you grunted with pleading eyes, but you were ignored. 

A hand wrapped around your throat, cutting off your air supply and forcing you to face the officer before you, terror screaming in your eyes at the sight. His eyes were dark and blown as they beamed down on you, brows knitted together to form a wicked scowl. 

“This is for Millers,” Bucky said, and drew his other fist back and hurled it right into your stomach, sending you reeling to the floor when Steve let go. 

If the gag hadn’t been in your mouth you would have thrown up from the force of the punch. Your lungs tried to expand, tried to get air but the wind was knocked out of you, the stretch of your back-bound arms not helping at all. You tried to cough, but the socks were making it impossible to do anything but grunt and groan in pain where you lay doubled over on the dirty floor. 

Why? Why was this even happening? Why were they doing this to you? You didn’t deserve it, you didn’t! You were alive despite all of Nate’s doings, and this was the reward you got? Nate must have been god’s favourite child if he was getting his wishes fulfilled even when he himself wasn’t there to enjoy them. He must have been a saint in a previous life if this was the redemption. It wasn’t right. None of it was right.

You were grabbed by your upper arms and panic immediately set in. No, you weren’t going to let them do this. You weren’t going to let them win. Not without one more fight. 

You kicked a leg out, connecting with something solid but moveable, and by the sound of it; a person. 

“Fuck!” Bucky grunted as he moved his leg back to protect it from further assault. 

You managed to roll over to your side and almost up on your knees when a harsh kick landed on your thigh and sent you right back down on the ground again, hard. You weren’t sure which one of them had kicked you, but none of them seemed amused by the effort. 

“Ngh..” you squeaked at the pain spreading through your leg.

Bucky was on you again in a split second, adrenaline pumping through his veins, grabbing your hands and wrist and forcing you back on your stomach. You felt a searing pain shoot through your wrist as the bone was broken. 

“Agh!” you grunted and screamed as more tears fell. 

The pain wasn’t lessened when you were hauled up and over a table, the cuffs digging into the hurt cartilage surrounding the break. Your hips were pressed into the wood, the table high enough that your feet were barely touching the floor. One hand moved to your neck, holding you down with a tight grip even as sobs shook your body violently, your cheek pressed down against the sticky wood. When Bucky got you under control again, his elaborate breathing started to slow down, but the rush of it all stayed. 

“Not bad,” he praised, still breathing somewhat heavily. 

The pain of your wrist was burning and searing whenever you were moved, hard hands shoving you into a position of subservience. The officer didn’t seem to have noticed the damage he had done to your wrist, or maybe he just didn’t care. 

“Still got some fire in her,” Steve said from where he stood a few feet away. 

He didn’t make a move towards you, letting Bucky deal with you however he pleased. He slowly started undoing his own shirt, his muscled chest peeking out, sending you into a frenzy again, but it was short-lived when the cuffs tugged painfully on your wrist and the grip of your neck tensed, and you couldn’t do anything but submit. 

You closed your eyes and readied yourself for what was to come. Each breath came and went with a groan, as tears started to fall yet again. You hadn’t even noticed their absence, but here they were again.

How was this possible? How was this happening all over again, how was this your reality? This wasn’t supposed to happen ever again…

Bucky groaned loudly as he reached up to tear the collar of your shirt enough to expose the warm skin on your shoulder, leaning down over you to press rough kisses to the soft flesh. He nipped and licked wherever he could reach, leaving marks and bruises easily hidden. 

He reached a hand down, partially lifting the bottom of your shirt to get to the hem of your trousers, before roughly shoving them down your thighs to expose your ass. 

“Ngh!” 

You cried out in alarm, renewing your struggles as your most private parts were exposed to the world, to the man making ready to use you. You screamed through the gag, but the sound was too muffled to be heard from anywhere but inside the room. 

Cold metal grazed your folds before being removed, and the hiss of electricity sparked near your flesh. The taser. 

You stopped struggling, stopped moving as the chilly prods once again ghosted over the soft flesh, the threat silent but very much there.

“Mmph…” 

Bucky chuckled when he moved it through the slit of your pussy, making your legs quake as he listened to the weak whimpering through the makeshift gag. 

“Not so tough now, are ya?” he mocked, causing more tears and muffled pleads. 

“P’ease… Ngh…”

Steve could feel his cock straining against the confines of his trousers, already aching and leaking precum against his boxers as he watched the show before him. He took a short step closer, his hands on the huge table as he leaned forward. 

“You only have yourself to blame for this, doll,” he said in a gravelly voice, meeting Bucky’s grin where he was boldly pawing all over your body, the taser smoothing over your skin, the threat to use it again apparent. 

“Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time, right?” Bucky said, and smacked your ass hard, causing you to scream yet again, and grabbed a handful of your hair to lift your head. “Maybe if you weren’t such a lying, murdering cunt, we wouldn’t be hollowing out your honey hole, now, would we, Stevie?” 

“No, we wouldn’t,” Steve agreed and backed off a step again. “But blood must have blood. Now it’s time for you to shed yours.”

“Mno…” you sobbed and shook your head, the men just smiling at the response. 

Bucky groaned in delight, releasing your tresses and letting you fall back down on the wood with a thump, the pain in your wrist becoming unbearable as it moved and twisted. His rough hands ventured the expanse of your uncovered flesh, slamming the taser down beside you on the table, a close reach should he want to use it. His fingers brushed over the edge of the long scar on your thigh, making you go stiff at the reminder of its birthday, but he didn’t linger enough to regard it, too busy roaming the cheeks of your ass, delve into your warmth. 

You thanked whatever god for the grace of your abdomen lying flat on the surface of the table, effectively keeping the worst of the worse safe. It didn’t matter that its presence on your body could be your salvation, you were too fearful of it instead sparking ideas in the officers’ heads, and more would accompany it should they know of its existence.

You opened your eyes with a gurgling sob, looking back behind you in hopes of reassuring officer Barnes of his mistakes, only to find him fishing out a condom from his pocket. 

“Agh! No, p’ease! Mm-mph!” 

Wet, gurgling screams and cries sounded in the room, but stayed there. You tried to move away, tried to kick him off the best you could with your pants bundled by your knees, but he ground his pelvis into your behind, and you froze when feeling the massive bulge pressing up against you bared ass. That was it. This was happening. And you couldn’t do anything more to prevent it. So, you did the only things you knew to persevere; you completely succumbed to your fate. 

He chuckled at your reaction, seeing the gears turning as you figured it all out. 

“Shh,” he said soothingly, and ripped the packet with his teeth. “You’re only making things worse for yourself, doll. And we can’t have you waking up the entire prison, now, can we?” 

Steve chuckled at the remark from where he paced in front of the table, his uniform shirt discarded, his body tensing with each step. Tight muscles curved his arms, veins snaking up the length of them. His chest was wide and his waist was narrow, solid squares of abdominal muscles thinning down to under the edge of his trousers, to the obvious erection still contained. He was next. 

Bucky pumped his cock in a few swift strokes, before making quick work of rolling the condom on. A moment of silence ticked by, Steve stopping in front of you as the officers’ eyes met. Both nodded, and Bucky started pushing in. 

“Ngh!” 

The intrusion of his shaft burned your walls, tearing as he forced himself further in, claiming you completely. Bucky watched the tight stretch as he eased himself in deeper, captivated by how beautiful your body looked all flushed and shaking, seating his cock deeply inside it. 

“Holy fuck…” he grunted, before he finally, _finally_ , sheathed himself inside your warmth. 

“Nngh!” you screamed, muffled by the gag still holding strong in your aching mouth. 

You cried and hiccupped, fighting to draw breath and stay alive, surrounded by pain and agony. With every drag of his cock against your burning walls, shards of glass broke off. Tap. The mirror webbed completely, the frame fighting to keep the silvery mess contained. That’s how hard someone needed to tap on the glass. Now you knew. And you wished you didn’t.

The tightness gripped him so deliciously, the pained throbbing sending pulses of pleasure through his entire body. He’d never felt someone so tight, and he’d popped several girl’s cherries.

He thrust hard and fast, setting a brutal pace, the table scraping the floor with the force of it. He was determined to make it hurt, to make you feel the pain he was dishing out. His fingers would leave imprints on your skin from the tight grip he held on your hips, not even bothering to hold you down as you could barely reach the floor for any purchase. His elaborate breathing was filling the room as he grunted and groaned, blending beautifully with your endless sobs and cries of pain, lost in the pleasure he was taking from you. You couldn’t do anything besides lay there and let him use your body as he wished, as he _pleased_. 

The pain was worse than you could remember. It been a long time since you struggled so much to not let your body be invaded, that you had almost forgotten how agonizing it was, how excruciating. You could feel the tears of your inner walls, and the slow trickle of blood seeping down your thighs and smoothing his entry with each thrust. The muscles burned around your opening, bones ached in your pelvis as he delved into you with such vigor you felt him in your belly. 

It was like you had been impaled on his shaft, your spine aching as he moved in and out of your pussy, moaning in pleasure as he slowly worked his way towards the bliss he craved from your quaking body. With every jolt forward, pain spiked up your arm from the clear break nesting there.

Minutes passed. Long, excruciating minutes of his onslaught before the slow movements turned into more determined ones, and the heavy breaths turned into louder grunts. His hands were tugging at your body to keep you meeting his thrusts, the sound of skin slapping too loud in the room, echoing in your mind. You were relieved to hear the familiar sound of white noise as pain surged through your entire body. 

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky grunted, grabbing your hair for more purchase, and you just closed your eyes and waited for it to be over. 

Bucky could feel himself coming to the cusp of climax as he snapped his hips harshly forward, his fingers gripping bruises into your scalp and hip as he forced himself into you completely. Pleasure coursed through his entire system, numbing his mind and uncoiling the tension in the pit of his stomach. 

“Ah...” he groaned and pushed himself as far as he could inside your warm, clenching pussy, appreciating every single second of bliss.

The muffled hiccup of a solemn sob sounded through the gag, when he finally stilled inside you. He groaned loudly, his chest rising and falling in deep, rapid breaths, slowly milking the last drops of his orgasm, slowly coming down from his high, still sheathed inside you.

“Goddamn...” he swore through the jarring of a pleased laugh, and slowly started to withdraw, making sure to keep his fingers still tangled in your hair and keep you down, as you lay there, still, and crying, grateful for the ease of pain in his absence. 

“Finally,” Steve rumbled, hurriedly walking up to the side of the table and replacing Bucky’s hand in your hair with his own, ready to take his turn on the joyride of pleasure. 

“Mngh...” you sobbed as the men traded places, the torture not ending. 

You were alive. It hurt enough to scream of your survival. Your lungs drew air, your heart kept its steady, drumming beat. Physically, you were alive. But shards were breaking off, falling from the frame of your mind and working their way into that beating heart, coming close to severing it in half. Tap.

Bucky moved away from you, breathing hard. He removed the blood covered condom, wrapping it in a piece of tissue for safekeeping until he could discard it at home. He wiped the remainder of the blood from his body, a pang of blame hitting him at the reminder of it not being period blood, but blood from tears. But an aftershock of pleasure removed that small sensation, and replaced it with pleasure instead, something he didn’t mind lingering on. 

Steve came to stand between your spread legs, eyeing the damage already done by his fellow officer. Your pussy was covered in crimson, fading out around your ass and thighs from where Bucky’s hips had spread it. The quivering of your thighs, and the anticipation rising in his own chest pushed down any care for the state of your body. You deserved this. They had every right to do this.

He had waited long enough to get his hands on you, to feel you wrapped around his cock and simply take what he was giving you, helpless and receptive. Steve didn’t mind the longer wait of going second, liking the extra teasing of watching you getting fucked by Bucky, feeling his cock twitching and leaking at the anticipation. 

His rough hands kneaded your ass, spreading your cheeks before slapping them both hard, earning a startled yelp and more tears to fall and seep into the socks in your mouth, already soaked by your saliva. 

“Ungh,” you sobbed at the sting, your entire body shaking and quivering from fear and pain.

“You’re not going soft on me, are ya, Jessie?” Steve asked, his voice almost caring. Almost.

He picked up the taser from the table and zapped your bare thigh, getting the reaction he wanted; some fire. 

“Agh!” you screamed through the gag as the burning current moved through you, stinging your leg and jolting your body. 

Steve smiled at the wail you let out from a mere graze of the taser. The sounds you made were so beautiful, so enticing. It didn’t take much to leave you crying and whimpering on the table, silently begging him not to zap you again. 

“P’ease... ahh...” 

The meek sounds falling from you like prayers were heaven to their ears. Submission as it should be. This was what they had been waiting for, wanting, since Nate had popped the idea in their head, saying it out loud and sharing it. And you truly were the perfect girl. 

Steve caressed your wet cheek and watched you recoil from his touch, whimpering. Looks like Bucky hadn’t fucked all the fight out of you after all.

He raked his fingers over your ass-cheeks, leaving red welts, and smacked your ass for good measure. 

“Ugh!” Another sob, another plea. “P’ease, nmo...” 

Steve let out a chuckle at the measly request and slow shaking of your head, and grabbed the condom waiting in his pocket. 

“Oh, Jessie, Jessie,” he said, his voice becoming firmer, more impatient. 

The sound of Steve’s zipper scraping down met your ears, fabric rustling quietly, and the familiar tear and crackle of the broken packet was heard behind you, and you couldn’t hold back the scream. 

“Aah!”

Every bruise, every touch, every lingering trace of them manhandling you was let out in that scream. One last, pitiful scream to not let yourself give up, not break. But the wrecked sound of your raspy voice let you know that you were already broken. 

_Smack!_

Bucky had grabbed his nightstick from the floor again and slammed it down hard, right in front of your face.

“Ugh!”

You flinched back as much as you could, breathing hard, fearing the hard plastic would meet your face otherwise, and the spike of your wrist told you just how real the damaged they could do was. Bucky laughed at your reaction, before Steve told him off. 

“Hey! I didn’t mess with her when you were fucking her, did I?” 

Bucky just shrugged, and placed the stick back on the belt. 

“So get to it,” he said, straightening his arms to move his still open shirt back in place, and ran them through his hair to set it all back in place again. 

This was it. Again. You prepared yourself for the sure pain to come, your walls already teared and aching, and by the feel of it, Steve was just as endowed as Bucky. You couldn’t help but beg. Beg for him not to do this to you, not to wreck you more that you already were. 

“S’eve, p’ease-e...” 

You sniffled and shook, hoping the officer would show mercy, that he would be humanized by the use of his name. But he wasn’t. He was angered. 

He snaked his arm around your torso, wrapping a massive hand around your throat and stifled a breath, lifting you up against his chest. Your wrist was caught painfully between you, and you wailed. 

“Agh-h!”

“What you say, inmate?” he demanded, his grip tightening around your airway. 

Your entire body shuddered through a meek whine, fear taking over as you fought to draw breath. 

“’m so’wy,” was heard. A weak impression of ‘I’m sorry’, but he heard it, as you chanted it over and over, hoping he would listen. “’m so-so’wy, sir, a-ah...”

You didn’t know what you were apologizing for. Saying his name? Begging? Killing Nate? For being back in this situation again, this time with two correctional officers holding all the power, and no way to get out? You were sorry for all of it. You were sorry you didn’t stay down. You were sorry for grabbing that knife and plunging it into Nate’s chest instead of your own. You were sorry for everything. You were sorry. You were sorry. 

Steve released his hold on your throat, moving it to the back of your neck and forcing you down, your cheek pressed hard into the wet wood where all your tears had pooled, yet to sink in. 

“I bet you’re fucking sorry,” he said through gritted teeth. 

Anger flared up at the pathetic excuse for killing a man, an excuse for them to show mercy. Not if he could help it. 

He grazed his cock over your pussy, feeling the shiver run through you as your body was paralyzed with the fear of his intrusion. He moved his cock slowly, softly even, through your folds, gathering the blood that had seeped down as slick, his motions controlled and patient. But it was just a tease. 

He positioned himself at your entry and pushed himself in to the hilt, bottoming out in one swift move. 

“Aa-aah! Ngh...” 

The scream was wrenched from your burning, raw throat, the quiver of it barely making it past the gag keeping the sounds contained to the room. You screamed as he pulled back, almost all the way out, before ramming himself back in, setting a relentless, punishing pace. Wrecked moans and pitiful whimpers were wrung from you with every thrust of his hips, the burn of your skin agonizing where his pelvis met your bare ass. 

“This is your own fault, ya know,” he said, with a vigorously hard thrust into your tight pussy trying to push him out. “Your. Fault.” He punctuated each word with a thrust forward, the screech of the table legs matching his pace. 

“’m so’wy...” 

Your fault. It was your fault Bucky had forced his way into your body. It was your fault Steve had done the same. It was your fault that you were torn between your legs, that you were coating their cocks in blood. It was your fault you were here. It was your fault. You were sorry.

The pain came back like a raging fire between your legs, stabbing at your pelvis and spine. Your legs quivered where they fought for purchase against the table or the floor, anything to keep yourself grounded. The small break between the men only seemed to have worsened the pain of being penetrated so forcefully yet again, your walls tearing even more as you clenched around him, fighting the intrusion. But Steve was relentless in his punishment.

Steve dug his fingers into your neck even harder, a scream wrenched from your raw throat and the pressure undoubtedly leaving bruises, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care that you cried, he didn’t care that your moans and groans where from pain and not from pleasure. He didn’t care. That’s what he told himself. He didn’t care.

Memories of their time with Nate flashed in Steve’s mind, hearing his voice and his laughter as he joked about Luscheck’s sad excuse for a motorcycle, all plastic parts. How his words slurred as he got more and more drunk. He remembered. So he didn’t care. 

His pelvis started losing its rhythm when he felt the familiar coil tightening in his lower abdomen, the muscles contracting powerfully as he kept up the movement, and slammed into your pussy over and over. 

“Oh... shit,” he cursed, leaning his head back as the pleasure erupted, storming through his body and sending sparks of pleasure through his veins. 

“... ngh...” you mewled when he slowed his movements, keeping the strength of every drive in and out of your wrecked body, before he finally stilled inside you. 

“Oh, fuck...” he breathed, his hands pawing at whatever part of your body he could find. 

He leaned over you, unintentionally pressing down on your broken wrist, to plant tender kisses on your shoulder and neck, your pained whimpers disregarded. He rested his forehead in your hair as he tried to calm his rapid breathing, scenting your hair with each inhale, storing it to memory.

Tap. The mirror shattered. The window broke. Shards of glass fell down like glistening droplets of rain, breaking into irreparable smithereens. Like sparks and bursts of a firework over a night sky. Like glittering stars of a galaxy so warm and dark. Like confetti.

There was nothing left. Nothing else they could take from you. No damaged left to be done. There was nothing but scars that would never heal. Nothing that time could ever erase. You were hallow. Completely and utterly hollow. 

You didn’t move. You couldn’t move. When Steve pulled himself out, when his hands left you, you didn’t move. There was nothing left that you could do. So you did. Nothing. Your fault. You were sorry. 

“Ah, man,” Bucky said with a small titter from when he had been stood leaning against the side of a bench the entire time, watching you getting fucked into the table by his own best friend. 

Steve raised an amused eyebrow at him, as he continued to clean himself up and tuck himself back inside his pants. He put the condom safely in his pocket in a piece of tissue, and zipped his pants back up. He let out an exasperated sigh, feeling his muscles relax. 

“You can say that again,” he chuckled and grabbed his uniform shirt from where he had discarded it and put it back on, rolling the sleeves up his strong, seaming forearms. 

His heart was beating hard in his chest, his pulse raising enough to put a slight shake to his hands. His mind was empty, completely hazed, but so perfectly cleared. The kick it gave them both to finally succumb to their imagination, their fantasies.

Bucky felt the same. Even when they’d talked about it and everything it would entail, nothing could have prepared him for the real deal, and the emotions that came with such domination. Complete power. Complete authority. The rush of having a woman beneath him so inferior, so submissive, she could do nothing but beg and plead and moan as he had his way with her. 

Bucky pushed off the bench and walked up to you where you lay, unmoving if it weren’t for the slow rise and fall of your chest, soft, almost inaudible rasps escaping you with each breath. He picked up the key to the cuffs from his pocket. 

“…mmgh…” was heard behind the gag, a lonely tear falling into your hairline when he grabbed your wrists to free them, turning the key with a click. 

A wave of pain surged through you when your wrist was released, melding with the rest of the pain already prominent everywhere else. If you’d had it in you, you would scream. But you didn’t. It wouldn’t change anything even if you did. There was nothing in you anymore. Your fault. You were sorry. 

Steve finished rolling up his sleeves and buttoning up his shirt, looking over at you where you lay, motionless and unmoving, softly whimpering. He cleared his throat, slightly surprised at the lack of reaction from you.

“We’ll leave the gates unlocked until you get back,” he said reassuringly, turning to Bucky who nodded his head. 

They didn’t want to leave, but at the same time they needed some space to process everything that had happened. And they still had a job to do, despite both wanting nothing more than to take the rest of the night off and just reminisce, and enjoy the comforts of post orgasm bliss.

“Clean yourself up, and don’t leave a mess,” Bucky said. “We’ll come to check later to make sure that you do. You have fifteen minutes to get back in your dorm, inmate. You better be there when we check.” 

Bucky knew he was distancing himself from you by not calling you by your name, or a nickname for that matter. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t want to know. It was what it was, plain and simple. Then again, maybe not so simple. 

Steve turned on his heel with Bucky at his side, throwing one last glance back at you, as if to make sure you were okay. No, that was stupid. He didn’t care whether you were okay or not, because he knew you weren’t. _He_ had even made sure of that. No, he looked back to take a mental picture and savor it for later. Nothing else. 

Both men left, letting the door to the laundry fall shut behind them and leave you laying there. Alone. Broken and alone. 

It was over. It was finally over. 

Your fault. You were sorry.

Tap. 

Crash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay... so... that happened! 
> 
> Our boys took the plunge into darkness and turned into ass-hats! And I fear poor Jess is broken beyond repair... 
> 
> The following chapters will feature a very broken and apathic Jess, and I'm not sure that's gonna really change...


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the storm...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following few chapters will not be happy or upbringing in any way, they are going to be dark and depressing for our dear Jess. 
> 
> Please mind the triggerwarnings if this is something that bothers you, you are in control of what you chose to read!
> 
> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Rape aftermath, depressive thoughts, physical hurt, emotional hurt, trauma

Empty. Consumed. Hollow.

Stripped of worth. Filled with shame. 

Worthless. Shameful. 

Your fault. 

Silent. The room was silent. No machines were running, no clothes were being folded. Silent. If not for the slow, steady dripping of a faucet leaking behind you, the room was silent.

A broken wrist. Cheek still stung from the hand that had struck it. Jaw ached from still being kept open, throat raw from weeping and screaming. Your neck hurt from digging fingers keeping you down against the wood where the tears had pooled, irritating your skin. It itched. 

“…ugh…” escaped, muffled by the socks still wedged in your mouth. 

Your feet shifted, trying to find the floor and slowly ease down from the high table. Pain erupted through your core like internal barbwire tightening. Like fire. It burned. You were burning. 

Fifteen minutes. That was a while ago now. Maybe it had even passed. Time could move so fast sometimes. And sometimes it just stood still. But not now. Now it wasn’t still. Move. You have to move. 

Your good hand, the dominant one, steadied you against the surface, pushing yourself off. The broken one slowly moved from behind your back to resting against your chest. Safe. 

“Agh..” you groaned at the searing pain shooting up your arm. 

You were shaking. Trembling. Despite it all, you reached up, carefully removing the socks from your mouth, tears spilling over as your jaw was forced slightly more open to do so. Your mouth was dry, your tongue sticking to the roof of it when you finally got to close it. Your lips were chapped. Your fault. 

A flare of fire surged between your legs, and you fought to stay standing, leaning against the table. 

“Ugh!” 

Tears. More tears fell, itching their way down your cheeks, scraping them raw. Could they just stop?

You looked down, shivering from the movement but you had to see. There was blood covering the inside of your thighs, spattered and dripped. Your thighs quivered from the strain of standing, pain surging through your body like a pulse. Move. You _have_ to move. 

You swiveled around to face the sink with the dripping faucet, leaning against the side for support. Breathe in. Breathe out. Every breath felt like lava as it rushed through your esophagus, screamed raw and wounded by unshed tears. Your fault. 

Turning the tap was like trying to move a boulder. It hurt to move. You had no strength left. But the water slowly started to go from a dripping to a slow pour, enough to soak the socks preciously keeping your fight out of earshot. Traitorous socks. Socks which shouldn’t have picked sides, but had. Your fault. 

You fought to place a cold and wet sock against your vulva, the chill initially startling but easing the pain when not moved. You held it still for just a moment before drawing it back, only to see blood seeping further and further into the white along with the water. Clots of coagulated blood spotted it from where it had touched your folds. You folded it over and softly placed it back against your opening, slowly, gently moving it to clean off the blood with unsteady hands. You rinsed it off the best you could, the crimson turning a light blush, and hung it on the side of the sink before picking up the other one to wet it. You cleaned off the inside of your thighs all the way up to your vagina, then moving it behind you to clean off the back and your buttocks. It came back covered in red. Your fault. 

The slow pour of the water couldn’t clean the entirety of blood off, but did enough to only leave a blush of it left. The basket for stray dirty laundry was close enough you could simply toss the socks into it, but you knew you couldn’t do that. Instead you had to shuffle over, fighting the pain with each step, to look down and try to find any panties stained with period blood. That’s a good thing about a women’s prison; periods sync up. That’s a good cover. There were more than enough in the basket to claim the staining of socks. You placed them near and let go of the traitorous socks. Your fault. 

Beside the basket lay maxi pads. They were used for cleaning, but their initial use was what you needed them for, knowing full and well the blood would not stop for some time. There were only a few ones left, so you didn’t dare to take more than one. It would have to do. 

With jerking motions, you bent down to grab your underwear and trousers to pull them back up, pain pulsating again. 

“Ugh…” you breathed painfully, as the pain spiked everywhere at once. 

Your wrist, your vagina, your spine, everywhere they had grabbed. Everything hurt. Your fault. 

You managed to get your pants back up and place the pad on your panties, but the graze of the material hurt against the rawness of your folds, like pressing down on a bruise. Despite the ties not being pulled, the edge pressed tightly against the forming bruises of your hips. It didn’t feel that way before, but now it did. Your fault.

Above the sink was a metal tray, much like the one in SHU, acting like some sort of mirror. It was dirty, showing a distorted reflection but still, it mirrored what faced it. You didn’t want to look but you knew you had to. You had been told to clean yourself up, and that’s what you needed to do. So, you looked. 

Your face wasn’t too bad. You hadn’t taken a beating so it wasn’t too bad. It was still too early to really see anything, but there would be a slight bruise on your cheek and chin from the slap, you could tell from the redness. You knew it well, so… you could tell. Wet streaks had blushed the skin of your cheeks, your eyes were bloodshot from constant crying. There was a slight darkening to your throat but nothing that would bloom to any real bruising, but the same couldn’t be said for you neck, which already showed the distinctive imprints of fingers, which would undoubtedly darken as time passed. Small spots of red and purple made with mouth and teeth accompanied them, littering your skin with possessive marks. The hoodie would cover that. It would. The hoodie would cover it. 

You turned to get a look at your shoulder where more specks of red and purple grew. Marks made by wandering lips and curious teeth, and too hard of a grip. A new shirt would cover that. One that didn’t have a ripped and torn collar. Thankfully prison attire wasn’t all that new or unused, so torn shirts with holes and whatnot wasn’t anything anyone was concerned about if they found one in the laundry. 

Slowly, so slowly you were barely sure the fabric was actually moving away from your body, you removed the shirt, careful not to upset your wrist as you tugged it off. Underneath, redness and the budding of bruises littered your body, written on your skin like a new story altogether. It was a stark contrast to the old ones already healed, but these would heal too. These would even fade from sight. But never from memory. Your fault. 

Both wrists were turning a dark shade of blue, the broken one severally so, even blackening where the swelling was worst. There was the slightest distinction of nipping steel going around them, but that would fade quickly. You could see some scrapes from wandering hands and fingers on your chest from where both men had grabbed at you like kids at a fair trying to get the best toy from the lottery. They didn’t need to. They were the only ones there. They didn’t need to fight for the prize. 

Gentle, prying fingers grazed the outlines of the word written on your abdomen, tracing it like the outlines of a drawing. It felt so true. It felt so real. Like it had predicted the future to come. Like a brand, or a scarlet letter. 

Your fault. 

There were thankfully a few clean, folded shirts on a nearby table, beckoning you over, luring you in with their protection from scrutiny. Their promise to keep what lay underneath safe. Though you would always know what was true underneath. What was being shamefully hidden. 

Shameful. 

Worthless. 

Your fault.

“…aah…” you grunted when the sleeve met your wounded wrist, slowly working it on and over enough to pull the entirety of the shirt on, and cover everything else. 

It was like putting a BAND-AID on a severed limb. It wouldn’t hold anything in, or keep anything together, but you would be able to say ‘I patched it up’. You patched it up. The wound would heal, the damaged would be fixed by a simple BAND-AID. Because you patched it up. 

With every step along the long and winding corridors, flares of fire burned in your core and up your spine. You tried to relieve the pressure with short, staggering steps, but everything still hurt. Everything still burned and ached and seared as you moved. Your fault. You were almost there. You passed through the gates, one, two, three and four before at last reaching the last hallway leading to your dorm. 

O.o.O.o.O

The room of the bubble was as dark as the dorm, the lights set to the lowest setting, a comfortable light to work nights in. It didn’t make the officers too sleepy, and it wasn’t a straining contrast whenever they needed to leave and check the dorms. 

They came in through the door from the hallway, Bucky going over to glance out into the dorm to make sure no one was up, as Steve shut the door behind him. They grabbed a chair each and sat down, both letting out exaggerated sighs which morphed into delighted and relieved laughter. 

“Holy fucking shit,” Bucky said with his both his hands over his mouth, looking over at Steve who sat leaned back, running both hands through his hair. 

“You could say that again,” he said, focusing on a spot on the floor. 

They could hardly believe it was real, that they’d finally done it. They had finally let themselves go, and done what they had wanted to do for so long, what they’d dreamt about. And how glorious it had been, the rush of endorphins was still buzzing. The control, the power… It was so different to all the other times either one of them had had sex with a woman, even if they were always the ones calling the shots. This was something else entirely. They’d never felt so alive, so in the moment before. It was like every touch had been electric. 

“I’m still coming down from the clouds,” Bucky said through a grin, rocking back and forth on his chair with a steady beat of his foot. “That was… intense.” 

Steve leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, drawing a deep breath through his nose. 

“Intense doesn’t even begin to cover it.” 

A few moments ticked by, some in silence, some in the mild titter of amusement, and some tenser than either one was comfortable with. There were so many things left unspoken and undone. So many things they had expected to feel or do, but didn’t, and some things they weren’t prepared for. The ambiguity was the major one, which neither dared to say out loud, but their expressions and demeanor let them know they weren’t alone in feeling it. 

“Think Millers would be proud or just jealous?” Bucky asked, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. 

Steve scoffed. “Pretty sure jealousy would take first place, but who knows. At least she got what she deserved, right?” 

Bucky moved his head in a slow nod, the action not really carrying the affirmative he was looking for. 

“Damn right,” he said, but it didn’t hold much assertion. “Should have removed her shirt before I cuffed her though. Never got a chance to really feel those tits,” he said with a snort, thinking back on his mistake.

“Well, all in hindsight,” Steve said. “Weren’t really her tits I was after.” 

He looked over at a grinning Bucky with a raised eyebrow, who slowly moved a hand through his hair. 

“Neither was I, but seeing how good her pussy felt, I bet her tits would be fucking perfect too.”

Both men nodded, letting a moment or two pass just to reminisce. It was a huge, life-changing moment in their lives after all. And they weren’t sure sitting there talking about it did it any justice. 

“She was so tight, wasn’t she?” Steve said, slowly grinding his palms together. “Like a piece of pure fricking heaven. And I was second, I can only imagine how tight she was for you.” 

Both men chuckled at the comment, recalling the warm cavern which they’d both invaded not too long ago, feeling the phantom feel of it on their cocks, tightening like a vice around them. 

“Best cherry I’ve ever popped,” Bucky said with a smile, earning one back. 

“You don’t actually think it was her first time, do you?” Steve asked, a worried thought starting to form in his head.

Bucky scoffed halfheartedly. “No, I don’t. If Millers didn’t get in there before we did, someone else sure did. A girl like that doesn’t stay a virgin for long. But I got to pop her prison cherry, so…”

Steve chuckled at the remark before Bucky joined in as well. That was one way of looking at it. There was a first time for everything, and someone’s first time in prison sure does count. 

The room was growing tense with an energy mixed between a high rush and haziness. Thoughts of Millers popped up in the back of their minds, and what happened to him, which justified their actions. They had done the right thing. Because a man was dead and you did not suffer enough for that, so they had seen to it that you did suffer, that you did get the punishment you so rightfully deserved. And they had certainly enjoyed themselves in the process.

Other thoughts started burrowing into those thoughts, questioning the real enjoyment of the sentence dealt. Small, indecisive emotions of wrong started pecking at the stronger feelings of right. They had gotten what they wanted, they had gotten to feel the power and control they wanted in their sexlives, to have complete authority over someone, to call the shots in every way. So, why did it feel, just a little, like they’d made an error of judgement? 

They heard the familiar sound of the heavy door to the dorm being opened through the wall, bringing them both back to the present. Their hearts started beating harder against their chests, the beat almost visible through their shirts. Bucky looked to the clock on the wall. 

“She listened,” he said smugly, noting that you were in fact on time. 

“Lesson apparently learned,” Steve said, and grazed his fingers along his jawline, intently watching the direction of the door for your arrival.

With every step it felt like you were stabbed through your pelvis, the pain erupting swift and fiercely, making it hard to stay quiet when all you wanted to do was moan and groan in pain to relieve it. The jagged movement of limping every time you took a step, sent shocks of fire through your wrist, adding to the already overwhelming pain. Your fault. 

The door to the dorm was shut as always during the night, feeling heavier than ever when you leaned against it to open it, like trying to move a wall. Like Steve had been a wall behind you, not letting you go. No, don’t think about it anymore. It was over. It was done with. Your fault. 

You leaned heavier against the door to get it to open, and quietly shut it behind you to not wake anyone. You hoped desperately that everyone was still dead asleep, and not awake to see the mess of you. Not that any of them should care that somebody had hurt you, you deserved everything coming to you, like the snitch you were. And if it by chance had been dealt out by the hands of a guard, seeing the night was prime time for that sort of thing, they’d probably make it seem like it was a consensual thing, that you got off on being hurt. That you had seized the opportunity to get roughed up by one or more of the handsome officers working the night. 

You felt their eyes on you, you didn’t even need to turn your head to know that the officers were intently watching every staggering step you took from behind the glass. The tears had stopped at least, that was a good thing. Not that it mattered if you cried or not. They didn’t care if you cried.

Bucky noticed that the collar of your shirt was no longer torn, thinking you must have changed into a new one. He didn’t tell you to do that, he hadn’t even thought of it, but you obviously had. He was relieved to find that you had covered for his slipup, but the fact that you had even thought to change out of your torn clothes made him wonder how or why you even knew to do that. But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t linger on that thought. Nor did he linger on the fact that your face scrunched up in pain with every step forward, or that the steps you took were all short and hobbling. No, he lingered on the warmth of your pussy, the softness of your skin beneath his fingers. Or so he told himself. 

Steve took in the state of your body, the way it staggered forward as you held your arm close to your chest in a comforting manner. You looked like you were in quite some pain, your cheeks were red from crying but there weren’t any tears falling now. He hadn’t expected the forced, short steps you took, clearly in discomfort. Wasn’t the first time he had fucked a woman hard enough to leave her not being able to walk, or at least have trouble doing so, but this didn’t look like that. This looked like something else. And usually it was the morning after that was troublesome. It was probably from taking two guys right after each other that had you limping down the hallway. And who could blame you? 

Once your back was turned to them and you had almost reached the seclusion of your cube, you felt a rush of fire and a gush of blood coming from your vagina. You caught yourself with your hand against the side of someone’s cube, stopping fully, leaning forward to ease the stretch of your abdomen. 

“…ugh…” came out, despite trying to keep quiet, but no one seemed to notice. 

The officers noticed. How you stopped just a few feet away from your assigned cube, leaning against the wall with fingers digging in hard enough to white your knuckles. They shared a look. A look that read of guilt, of shame, of worry. But that was all covered by a forced chuckle from both. 

“It hurts to learn,” Steve said, tugging a corner of his mouth upward in a lopsided smile. 

“Sure does,” Bucky agreed, an idle hand running through his long hair, yet again. “I wouldn’t mind teaching her some more.”

Steve gave a scoffing laugh. “Me neither. Wouldn’t mind really making sure she learns her lesson. You can never get enough education,” he said, making them both laugh at the snide remark, slowly losing themselves in another scenario involving more lessons. 

You wobbled your way into your cube, leaning heavily against the top of your locker. You looked over at Gina, but all you found was a sleeping form with its back to you as always. You had to look. There was no doubt in your mind that the blood had been enough to not soak into the pad, and you really didn’t want or need to have bloodstains covering your pants. Sure, bloodstains weren’t all that uncommon in an all-women’s prison, but you didn’t plan on getting out of bed for quite some time, and the cleaner the clothes, the better. 

Keeping as quiet as you could with the strain, you slowly got your trousers down the curve of your hips enough to get a look at the damage. You had been right. There was blood brimming the edge of the pad, and it needed to be changed. You removed the used one, which had just started to not hurt where it touched your folds, and replaced it with a few new ones from the stock laying on your locker. They were a thicker kind than what you had found in the laundry, but you still double stacked them, and covered the back of your panties for good measure. There was always more blood that you’d expect after being… raped. Your fault. 

You threw the used one in the lidded bin beside the locker, having wrapped it in a clean one to disguise the smell for as long as possible. At least blood from tearing didn’t have that same distinct smell that period blood has. Slowly you dragged your pants back up, trying not to wiggle too much when every small movement sent spikes of pain through your core. 

Carefully you wobbled over to your bed. It looked as inviting as a king with crispy white down sheets even in its simplicity. You sat down and immediately regretted it.

“Agh…” escaped you without warning as a stabbing pain surged up your spine, and you lifted yourself up a bit to relieve the pressure on your vulva. Your fault! 

Gina stirred from the noise, but didn’t seem to wake up or turn. You kept a keen eye out, moving down to lean more on your hip than anything, and lay down slowly on your side, your back snug to the wall in the feigned comforts of security. You kept your hurt wrist close to your body, holding it safely to you to keep it out of harm’s way as the tension slowly started to be relieved. Your fault. All of it was your fault. 

The pain was very much apparent, and you knew it would be for some time. This wasn’t the first time you had been forced with such violence. At least the officers didn’t beat you to a pulp, so… silver lining? But everything _down there_ still hurt like a raging inferno tearing through you. Your fault. Your muscles ached from the futile fight you’d put up, your skin was scraped from the table, both on your hips and abdomen as well as your cheek, which still hurt from the hand which had struck it. Your fault. The back of your neck was tense from their unrelenting grip, the muscles there almost cramping up when forced down. Your fault. 

You watched the wall above Gina, where the bricks met neatly and firm. You watched it until time stopped, until it started moving backwards. Like sand through and hourglass, never ending. But there was nothing you could do. Nothing you could do to take it back. To take back everything you had ever done to the officers, to Nate, to yourself. If you could, you’d take it back. You’d take it back. 

Your fault.

Your fault.

Your fault.

Your fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky's delusional thoughts of domination are simply them trying to justify their actions! I do not condone this type of behaviour in BDSM etiquette, and this was not that. This was rape, and no amount of justification can make that okay! I know that, they don't... cause they're assholes!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Blood, stabbing, death, physical and mental hurt. Most within the flashback so skip that part if any of this bothers you. 
> 
> Sorry it's such a short chapter you guys, but I've been really busy... I wanted to get this out to you all today, I know it's been more than a week in between chapters and I'm so sorry! I will have a bit more time to write now and hopefully make the next chapter both longer and more exciting, cause I have a feeling there's gonna be some truth leaking... ;) Stay tuned!

Morning rolled around and their shift had ended. They had done what they usually did after a shift; they’d made sure to leave their intercoms at the station, they’d gone to the staffroom to get their things from their lockers and made sure to not leave anything in the lunchroom that wasn’t supposed to be there. It was a typical morning in so many ways, yet everything was different. _They_ were different. 

Whenever they had come around to check the dorms during the night, you were asleep. They’d given you some time alone before they did a check, and it was not because of guilt, but once they did, you were fast asleep. It had surprised them at first, seeing Steve had pointed out that you never slept during the night, always sitting perched on your bed instead. But now you slept. Wasn’t that strange after all, they’d really put you through the wringer, so of course you needed to sleep. They really needed sleep too, and their own beds were calling out to them, even before they walked through the door. 

Bucky walked in and went straight to the fridge to get them both a cold beer. They needed something to celebrate with, and something that might take the edge off before going to bed. Steve threw his jacket on the backrest of a kitchen chair, and walked into the living room with a loud sigh. He turned the tv on for some company, something they both did, which made their bill skyrocket but they didn’t care. He sat down on the couch, leaning back heavy and into the cushions, resting a foot on the coffee table. Bucky was right behind him, and mirrored his position right beside him, handing him a cold one. 

“Thanks,” Steve mumbled and took a swig of the smooth liquid. 

They sat there, watching the tv screen without really seeing anything, both already having a private viewing of last night replaying in their minds. It was everything they had wanted, everything they had planned for and prepared for. Even your initial reaction to seeing Bucky standing there waiting in the laundry room. You figured it all out so quickly, it didn’t take more than a look from him to let you know you were right. 

The way you struggled and begged was all so perfect. It took a few tries to get you under control, to get you to learn your place and just let them use your body as they wished, and it was perfect. How they got to manhandle you, just like they wanted. How they got to hear you beg, just like they wanted. How they got to pin you down, just like they wanted. Everything was what they wanted. And you got what you deserved. 

“Think she’ll even get up today?” Bucky asked into his bottle before a sip. 

Steve did a half shrug. 

“Doubt it. She’s probably gonna be bedridden for the entire day,” he said, ending with a slight chuckle, which Bucky joined in on.

“I doubt she can even walk,” Bucky said. 

“Seemed to have trouble with that last night even,” Steve added. 

Both smiled at the thought, quite proud to be the ones to achieve that staggering walk. Just like Steve, it wasn’t the first time a lady had left Bucky’s bed with an awkward walk. The occasions were rare for such vigour, but certain nights called for a rougher handle than others. 

Images flashed in the minds of the passed night, sounds echoed in their ears. And they weren’t all really that pleasurable to remember. Sure, the amazing orgasm, their power and your helplessness were all fond memories, but it was somewhere along those last images where things started to turn a bit sour in memory. Questions started to appear. Questions they did not want to hear nor answer.

“We did the right thing right?” Bucky asked after a few silent moments had ticked by. 

Steve turned his head to his friend, finding an uncertain look plaguing his usually upbeat features. His face wasn’t any better, he knew, so he forced it to change. 

“Of course, we did,” he said. “She’s deserved every bit of rough treatment we’ve given her, and then some. Murdering Millers... She got off easy, you know that. And if the justice system can’t punish murdering cunts, then we have to step up.”

Bucky let out a snicker, almost spilling the beer in his mouth, barely managing to swallow before speaking. 

“Such foul mouth, Stevie,” he said, earning an almost shameful look from Steve, if it weren’t for the twitching smile. 

“Your words. Jerk,” he shot back, no spite in the word whatsoever, before he clanked their bottles together and took a swig to finish his beer. 

Steve inhaled deeply and rose to his feet with a loud sigh, putting down his now empty bottle on the table. 

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he said and, again, pushed his way through Bucky’s raised leg without a second thought. 

“You do see me sitting here, right?” Bucky fired back, and threw one of the pillows from beside him after Steve, just grazing his leg before sliding onward on the floor. 

Steve barked a laugh at Bucky’s annoyed face, and picked up the pillow and shucked it right back. He would have hit his face if Bucky didn’t have catlike reflexes and dodged it. 

“Asshole,” Bucky muttered under his breath through a smile as Steve went to turn a corner. 

He heard the shower come on from inside the bathroom, the door a tinge ajar to let the steam out. Privacy was a luxury none of them had much care for, effectively beaten out of them from their time in the army. Now it was all open doors, disciplined wakeup calls and meticulous making of beds. And their closets were always neatly stacked with perfect square shirts. 

They were army men. Part of the US finest. Heroes. They’d gone to war to fight for their country, they’d saved lives and risked their own in the process. They were heroes. But right now, sitting at home on his couch after just having forced himself on a young woman, Bucky didn’t feel like a hero. Far from it. Yes, they had been right to do it, you had deserved the pain and the punishment for murdering a man and getting such a minimum sentence, but right now... When the buzz had worn off, and the rush had gone with it, he was left with nothing but the doubtful questions he had buried so deep prior to it all. And it didn’t leave a heroic aftertaste at all. 

Steve turned the knob to increase the chill of the steady stream falling from the showerhead above, leaning his hands heavily against the wall to let it cascade down his neck and broad back, the muscles tensing under the cold water. He stood there for several minutes, not moving, not showering. Just letting the water wash over him and clear out his mind. At least it was the goal, but the execution was not really turning out that great. 

He could still feel your body. Could still feel his grip tightening around you, leaving bruises and making it hard for you to breath against him. He could still feel how you kicked back against him when Bucky had taken his shirt off, how you had upped your efforts to get away. He could still feel it. And the shame ate away at him. 

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this now. He was supposed to be calm and collected, joyous over the happy outcome. He was supposed to look back at this night and only remember the high of being completely in control, the heavenly feel of your pussy tightening around him, making him cum harder than he had for quite some time. But that ship had sailed, leaving just a heavy anchor behind, dragging him to the bottom. 

When he couldn’t hold back the shivers anymore, he switched the water to hot and routinely washed off, feeling the ache in his body and the desperate need for sleep. He wondered if Bucky felt the same. In all aspects. He knew his friend, he could read him like an open book, and vice versa, which made their friendship run so deep. And Steve could hear the doubt in his voice, hear the forced conviction whenever Steve himself had voiced his own concerns. Bucky felt the same, that much he was sure of. But neither wanted to say anything aloud, not wanting to open that door and let them both be consumed by it. And they both knew, deep down, that it was just a matter of time before their happy little bubble of unspoken words, would burst. 

O.o.O.o.O

Static hissing sounded through the dorm, screeching like an old angry cat, before CO Wilson’s voice came through to go over the schedule for the chapel and giving a few encouraging words to start the day. The inmates started stirring, some early risers but most were just lying in a sleepy haze, not wanting to get up, annoyed by the loud and booming voice of the officer telling them they had work to attend. 

You stayed asleep. You didn’t wake up despite the commotion. The tiredness outran anything trying to chase it down and get you to open your eyes and feel the world of pain you were in. No, you wanted to stay asleep, _needed_ to stay asleep. Some things would be worse once you did wake up, you knew that. Like the pain after a hard workout which gets progressively worse as time goes on, peaking a day later than expected. But some things would also have lessened, so you stayed asleep. 

The hope of having a dreamless sleep was quickly shattered. Horrible images and memories haunted you wherever you turned in your subconscious, terrorising your body even through the foggy vail keeping you asleep. Images of the officers, their hands, their mouths, their shafts impaling you over and over, seeking completion and bliss from your body. Their words plagued you. _Not so tough now, are ya? You only have yourself to blame. Lying, murdering cunt. Blood must have blood. ...time to shed yours. Your fault._

Images started blurring with memories of Nate. Memories of that night. Images and echoes of the past back to haunt you, even as you slept.

FLASHBACK/DREAM

“Told you.”

Nate’s voice was joyous, gleeful almost. He looked down at your shuddering form, sputtering out blood, trying to draw breath whilst clenching your belly to protect it. More blood pooled onto the floor, like someone had spilled a glass of crimson milk. Nate lifted a foot to tap the toe of his shoe in the liquid, drawing a line through it, covering his entire sole, but he didn’t care. Every time he did, your eyes followed his movement wearily, expecting another kick maybe. He noticed you watching his boot, and he couldn’t help but smile. 

“A man can’t help but have a little fun, now, can he?” 

Your eyes shot up at him, finding him smirking down at you. He crouched down, making you recoil and involuntarily made your belly ache even more from the movement. He reached out a hand and grabbed you by your chin, keeping you in place. Keeping your eyes on him. 

“Are you gonna be a good girl?” he asked mockingly, his fingers pinching into your skin. 

You couldn’t nod, his hold wouldn’t let you. His fingers kept your mouth closed, so all you could do was moan weakly in response. 

“Ugh...” 

It was enough to satisfy as an answer thankfully, because Nate smiled. 

“See I’ve been thinking about this little...” he said, letting go of you, rising to his feet and began to pace before you. “...pushing of limits for a while now. Every minute of it in fact. Every single thing that I wanna do to you.” 

“Mmph...” you whimpered as his eyes shot a harsh look down at you. 

“See how much you can take.” 

He stopped in his tracks close by your head, biting his lip where he stood, almost calculating. He was always so expressive in his features. His face never told a lie unless he wanted it too. And his hands were keen, twitching around the handle of the knife.

“See, I’m gonna make this hurt. It’s gonna hurt so bad, until you last... final... gasping breath.”

He turned on his heel away from you. 

“Please, Nate... You don’t have to do this...ugh...” you begged, gasping as more blood flooded onto the floor, creeping further and further away.

Nate scoffed, his back still towards you, but he turned his head to look at you.

“Oh, but I wanna. I want it so much it makes me hard.”

No. Not that too. You couldn’t bear it! You didn’t spare a look down to see if he was in fact speaking the truth because you knew he was. He never lied about that. He had never once showed you mercy when you begged him not to force himself on you. Usually you didn’t even bother to put up a fight, knowing it was futile and he was going to get his way anyway, no matter what you did. And not fighting him was the only way to spare yourself the pain and harm. 

“I’m gonna make you beg,” he went on, looking down at the blade. “Beg for your life. To spare it. Or to take it.”

Oh, god. This was it. He was going to kill you. He was actually going to end your life. Thoughts of ending your own life to be free of this torment had circled in your mind more than once, but you were never ready. You weren’t ready to die. Not before, not now. You weren’t ready for Nate to take your life, to claim himself the sole destroyer of your entire being. No, you couldn’t die. Not now, not like this. Not now. 

With a rush, Nate lunched himself at you, ready should you try to work yourself out of his grip. But what he wasn’t ready for, was the slippery blood under his boot betraying his footing. He fell down to the floor with a loud thud, falling face first into the blood and losing grip of the knife. It rolled across the floor. To you. 

He looked up. First at the knife, then you, noticing you eyeing the knife. He threw out a hand, trying to get it back quickly, but you were faster. 

There was nothing in your mind but one lonely thought chanting over and over again, deafening you to the world. One thing that controlled your entire body, making you act on it to have its will be done. Don’t die. Don’t die. Don’t die.

The knife was warm in your hand, the handle rough against your fingers. It contrasted beautifully with the softness of flesh and blood giving way to its silvery steel, soon coated in red. With every deep cut, the skin seemed to give away easier and easier. 

If anyone were to ask you afterwards what was being said or heard during that moment, you wouldn’t know. To you, it was all silent. You couldn’t hear Nate’s gasps, or his groans, or his pleads, or even your own voice screaming _stop. No. I don’t wanna die. No. Stop_ , as the knife pierced his torso with each word. You couldn’t hear anything but white noise fogging your ears and your mind, your vision going dark from the overflow of adrenaline in your system. You couldn’t hear anything, you couldn’t see anything, until all you could see was Nate. Dead. And the knife in your hands, covered in the same blood falling from the open wounds of his lifeless body. 

Oh, no. What had you done? 


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some truth is revealed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Rape aftermath, mental and physical hurt

It was already late afternoon by the time you opened your eyes, fragments of the dream still floating around. You didn’t get up, nor did you let anyone know that you were awake. Not that anyone was around to even tell. Gina was nowhere to be seen, and the dorm seemed to be quiet. Maybe it was dinnertime? 

A thought popped into your head; why hadn’t any of the CO’s made you get up for count? You had gathered that Peeve and Fuc- No, that was rude. You can’t be rude, Jess. – You had gathered that _Steve_ and _Bucky_ would be kind enough to leave you alone for the rest of the night and let you rest, but the other officers on site would still have counts to make. For whatever reason, they had let you sleep. 

(Nicky had passed through your cube to get Gina for Red, spotting you sleeping soundly, not looking too hot. She had thought it was a sickness, a fever or a cold maybe, and had let the guards know that you were ill. They had then counted you from your bed, allowing you the rest. But you didn’t know that. If you did, you would have seen the hurt look on Nicky’s face as she felt remorse and regret pool in her chest from not being by your side. She felt for you. She really did. But she needed to look out for number one, and not risk her own sentence or life due to drugs.)

It was late. Soon the officers would start their shift, if they didn’t have the day off, but you doubted that. They wouldn’t act on their emotions the night before they had a day off when they could gloat instead. No, they were working tonight. It was only a question of when they would get here. 

Would the same thing happen tonight as well? Would the officers pull you aside and assault you in the laundry room again? Or maybe somewhere else this time? Who knew how creative these officers could be? It they wanted it to happen, it was going to happen, and that’s the end of it. Nothing you could do about it. Not that you would. You were done. There was nothing left within you, no strength left to fight for your life. There was nothing but pain and guilt. You were done fighting. 

It was your fault Nate was dead. Maybe if you had tried harder, he would still be alive, and you wouldn’t be in prison serving a sentence for taking his life. Maybe if you hadn’t given up and then found the fight in you somewhere, out of nowhere, Nate would still be alive. It was your fault you were here. It was your fault the officers hated you. It was your fault the officers had hurt you. It was your fault the officers had raped you. It was your fault. 

So, you gave up. You wouldn’t do anything but listen to what they say, and do what they told you to do. You had no hope left for salvation, for saving, for forgiveness. You didn’t deserve to be forgiven, you didn’t deserve to be saved. You deserved what they did to you. Because it was your fault. It was all your fault. 

You lifted the blanket covering you to get a look at your wrist. The mere movement of the blanket was enough to cause a flare of fire to erupt through your arm, more than what was always present. You looked down, ignoring the clear pain in your neck from the bend, knowing bruises must have formed after both men’s firm grip. The skin around your wrist was turning an ugly shade of a deep, dark purple, the edges blue. It didn’t look very distorted, just swollen and painful. The tension in your abs from lifting your head, was felt even through your core. You knew you must still be bleeding, but it didn’t feel like you had bled through the pads just yet, so you left it alone. You lay the blanket back down again, not fazed by the information. 

You couldn’t find it in you to care about your situation, to care about your pain. It was your own fault it had happened, it was your own fault you were hurting. You didn’t care about anything anymore. 

You closed your eyes once again, waiting for sleep to take over. And it did not disappoint. 

O.o.O.o.O

Bucky did a routine check of all the dorms, as was his job. His own personal agenda just happened to merge with the task on happy accident. Steve was working the intake, processing the leftover of new inmates and assigning them rooms or bunks. It was a somewhat entertaining job, but he wouldn’t have minded going to check on you himself, but he trusted Bucky would tell all once he came back, and he did. 

Both men walked into the empty lunchroom, still too early for the late workers to take a lunchbreak and the day staff had all gone. Bucky went to the fridge to take a swig from his premade smoothie, speaking as he went. 

“She’s still in bed,” he said. “Sleeping by the looks of it.”

Steve leaned against the counter by the sink, folding his arms. 

“Sure she’s not just pretending?” 

Bucky did a half shrug as he drank before speaking. 

“Didn’t seem like it. She’s been so skittish that she’s been up and at it before we barely step in the dorm before, so... my money is on sleeping.” 

Steve nodded slowly, agreeing with what Bucky said. It didn’t seem logical for you to fake being asleep when you’d seemed too fearful of appearing that way before. Fatigue must have taken over. 

“Yeah, well,” he said, looking down at his feet. “Can’t really blame her.” 

Bucky nodded where he stood leaning an arm on the opened door. He held the liquid in his mouth for a moment before swallowing it and put the rest back to keep cool. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Nope,” he said, popping the p. “Wilson said she was sick according to the other inmates. Maybe there’s some truth to it, I don’t know.” 

Steve nodded again. “Yeah, maybe. Whatever the reason, I say we let her sleep and rest up. She might need it, so...” 

“Yeah, sounds fair,” Bucky agreed, before both walked out of the room and got back to work. 

Neither voiced their concerns for you, for your tired state. Sure, they understood the hardship you had gone through the other night, and that you might indeed be in dire need of sleep, but the fact that you stayed asleep even in their presence seemed a little odd. Like Bucky had mentioned, you had been very skittish prior to the... _incident_ , and that should have given you more than enough reason to keep your guard up. To fear them even more. Yet you seemed unbothered or unmoved by their presence. Perhaps they had been harder on you than they realized? 

The night went on in the same manner. They checked the dorms, did their counts, but allowed you to stay sleeping like the rest of the officers had during the day, if you were in fact ill. Whenever they went by your cube, you were just lying there, in the same position as last time. If it wasn’t for the slow and steady rise and fall of your chest, you almost looked like you were dead. Your skin was pale, the expression on your face pained and relaxed at the same time. 

It was time for lights out, and you had yet to wake up. Steve and Bucky had both taken turns checking your dorm, throwing an extra glance your direction, but were always met by the same sleeping figure. It seemed not even the commotion of all the inmates getting ready for the night could wake you from your slumber. 

They passed through like they should during the night, never finding you awake or even turned over. The pain written across your face never left either, always present, sometimes even more so. But that was the only change they could notice. 

They didn’t comment on it. This night they actually did what they were supposed to do, and didn’t linger too much around you, seeing there was no fun involved, and therefore no point. But in truth, neither one was in any mood to mess with you, to confused by their own emotions and thoughts after last night’s events. So, it was better for all to just leave you in peace. 

O.o.O.o.O

Morning rolled around, and Bucky and Steve had both left the prison, and everyone else had begun to wake up and start their day. Gina had left early to work in the kitchen, so you were alone when you started to come to. 

Your eyes still hung heavy with sleep and pain, your body too lax to be bothered to wake up. Pain seared through your wrist, throbbing now. It must be what had awakened you. You moved your pelvis, just a little to test the waters, and found that pain erupted through your entire core. You held back the hiss that threatened to escape, barely catching it in time. You had nothing to complain about. This was all your fault. You deserved the pain. 

The other inmates left, for breakfast most likely. You weren’t even hungry. There was nothing appealing about getting up, the pain being the biggest obstacle to overcome. If that had you limping before, it was probably a tenfold now. No, there was nothing appealing about being awake, but sadly, being asleep had its own disadvantages. Nate. 

Nate was always there, always in your head. He haunted your sleep like a poltergeist, living for the thrill of watching you crumble inside your mind. He did a bang-up job of it too, eating away at anything he could find, his words mocking you, echoing through to the day. They even echoed in the officers’ words. It was all about how pathetic you were, how you deserved pain and agony, that you were useless and worthless. It never stopped. And you had always fought hard to not let yourself believe any of it. Until now. 

Now you let it rain. You let the bullets fly and hit their target, standing there like a bullseye. There was no hiding from the truth of it anymore. It wasn’t just one person that had said it, not two, not three. It had all been said by so many, all said to you, _about_ you. There was only so much burying your head in the sand you could do, before you had to lift your head and listen to what was being said. That it _was_ your fault. That you _did_ deserve every bit of it. That Nate was right. 

Hours passed while you just lay in your bed, not sleeping, but not really awake. You just lay there. There was almost a slight trembling to you now. The pain was becoming hard to handle, your wrist being the worst of it all. It didn’t have the proper support, and it might even need to be fixed or rearranged somehow. But you weren’t going to do that. You weren’t going to go to medical and seek help, that would only make things worse, that would only make the officers more mad at you. They might even hurt you again should you go. No, it was better to endure. You deserved that. 

Gina came walking back into the cube sometime after lunch. She was looking for something in her locker when she glanced back at you. 

“Are you okay?” she asked. 

No. I’m torn apart and left in pieces. I’m not okay, you thought. 

“I’m fine.” 

She stopped rummaging through her things, apparently finding what she was looking for, and stood up, walking over closer to you. But not too close. You weren’t friends or nothing. 

“Doesn’t look like it,” she said, looking down at you staring up at the ceiling. 

“I’m fine,” you repeated, your voice hollow and wooden, no assertion whatsoever. 

“Maybe you should go take a shower. Might do you some good,” she said and left, not waiting for you to respond. 

Shower. Take off your clothes. See your body. No, you didn’t want to do that, didn’t want anyone else to see the state of you. They might ask questions, and questions were never good. And how would you both cover your horrible scar and clean yourself, your wrist was broken? Everyone would see the horrific maim that was your body, everyone would know the truth. Not to mention the blossoming bruises littering your body here and there. More confetti to cover. 

A thought hit you. The woman in the bathroom. The one who had already seen bits and pieces, and had seemingly kept her word of not telling anybody. Miss Claudette. You had learned her name in passing, hearing some inmates speak of her like some voodoo shaman, and an alleged murderer. Well, that makes two. She sure didn’t seem like no murderer. A hard-ass maybe, but certainly not a murderer. But she had earned the respect of the other inmates, and no one seemed to ever mess with her. Most likely fearing her but still, she deserved the benefit of the doubt. 

The inmates were supposed to be at work during these hours, so the bathroom should be vacant. Miss Claudette did not have a set work assignment, helping out in the kitchen whenever she felt like it. But that was all way across camp. If you could walk, you couldn’t walk far, and an extra trip past the kitchen to ask for her help and discretion, was not favourable at this moment. Perhaps she was in her cube? If you were lucky. 

You removed the blanket and sat up, twisting at the same time to get your feet on the floor. It was excruciating. It felt like your body was on fire, your vagina hurting like you were sitting on burning charcoal. And your wrist was no better, complaining loudly at the movement. But it had to be done. You probably didn’t smell too good, sleeping for days, and bleeding quite heavily. You wouldn’t mind getting clean, but you really didn’t care for getting up. 

You shuffled along the hallways, staggering steps leading you towards the D-dorm where Miss Claudette had her bunk. You found her in her cube, thankfully, stirring something boiling in some kind of contraption and make-shift pot on her desk. She looked over at you, taking in your pale, milky skin, the hunched angle of your back with scrunched up shoulders. The way you were nursing one arm close to your body, the other housing all your toiletries and towels, a laundry bag of fresh clothes hanging from the same hand. You looked up at her, your glazed over eyes meeting her questioning ones. 

“Hi,” you said lowly. 

“Do you need anything, child?” she asked, her accent still not clear. French? No. 

“I... uh... I need your help,” you said and swallowed, remembering your manners. “If you would be so kind, ma’am.”

She looked you up and down. 

“Are you alright? What is the matter with you? Speak,” she all but demanded, her voice resonating like a lioness scolding a cub. 

You cleared your throat. “Y-yes, I just... fell. I’m fine, just... I need to shower.” 

You waited a beat, letting her take in what you said, seeing if she would work out your silent request on her own. And she did. 

“I see,” she said, looking down at whatever she was cooking. “I suppose I can be of assistance. Just let me finish here, and I’ll meet you in the bathroom. B-dorm bathroom. It has the least people.” 

You nodded, but didn’t leave. You were still somewhat new to prison, and estranged by everyone, but you had figured out the rules of the game. 

“What’s it gonna cost?” 

She looked up, sighing, noticing your pained face. 

“Nothing,” she said. “I am doing this for free because I do not think that you fell, little girl, no matter what you say. We could all use some kindness every now and then. Now go.” 

You did what she said, and made your way to the bathroom. It was slow but steady progress, and the hallways were as vacant as they could be, only a few inmates stalling from their work duty. The looks they gave you weren’t as mean as they were a week ago, but they weren’t particular nice either. They probably thought you had earned every bit of bruising on your body, and they didn’t exactly go out of their way to rectify it by kindness. If someone had given you a beating, you most likely had it coming. 

The bathroom was calm, only two inmates there, standing by the sink with towels around their waists and nothing but bras on. You didn’t know any of them by name, and didn’t care to read their tags. They gave you a quick glance, but didn’t think more of it. They weren’t mean per se, but you didn’t want them there anyway, not during your most vulnerable moments. 

You walked around the wall and put your things down on the bench and waited for your hero to come. The story of the damsel in distress and the knight in shining armour had changed drastically. Her armour was khaki-coloured. 

Miss Claudette walked in, and the girls by the sinks immediately stopped gossiping and giggling. 

“Ladies,” Miss Claudette said sternly, and that was all that was needed.

Both girls packed up their things and hurried out, not saying another word, at least none that you could hear. Maybe they muttered something incoherent to Miss Claudette, but if so, it wasn’t meant for your ears. 

She peeked around the wall, finding you standing there, staring down at your things. 

“I’ll stay on this side,” she said softly, and disappeared again. 

Relief blossomed in your chest. She wasn’t going to look either. No one was going to stare at you, or ask you questions. You were safe. At least for a while, so better not waste time. 

You prepared your new, fresh clothes on the bench, sticking several pads on your new panties, the more coverage the better. Everything was set out for easy access, so you started to remove your clothes. Sitting down on the bench, hissing in pain as that once again bloomed in your core, you removed your socks. It hurt to move your legs too much, but you endured. The shirt was next, carefully being pulled over your head before traveling down to your hurt arm. 

“Mmm...” you muttered through a clenched shut mouth, as fire raged up the length of your arm, before the shirt was finally off, along with your bra, all in one go. 

The top of your pants was pulled up to cover the scar, you didn’t care to be bothered by the others. But you found that you didn’t really care at all. Not about the new bruises, not about the old scars. Not even about the word. You didn’t care about any of it. At least not like you did before. The shame was still hard to force back.

You stood up and pulled your pants down your things, dragging your underwear with them. Blood traced the inside of your legs, leaving tracks of crimson. You stepped out of your trousers, and put everything inside the laundry bag, safe for the used and bloodied pads which waited on the bench, ready to be chucked into a bin. 

You didn’t look down. You didn’t search for any new information regarding your body. It was what it was, nothing you could do about it now, except get clean. 

Stepping into the stall, you hung a towel on the side and turned the water on, not caring about the initial cold spray hitting you. It couldn’t hurt any more anyway. You angled your body so the spray didn’t hit directly on your hurt arm, but still keeping your back to the world. 

You wanted so bad to just stand there and let the water clear away everything that had happened. Just stand there and not care about fear or pain or responsibilities. Just stand there, and let the water work its magic on your healing body. 

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You were there to get clean, nothing else. So, you did just that. You washed your hair, remembering the officers' fingers raking through it. You lathered up your body, feeling their touches haunting your skin, their marks laughing at you trying to wash them away, your wrist the biggest clown of all. You only graced it, thinking the water would do enough. Then you braced yourself, and slid a hand down to your vulva, as ready for the pain as you could be. Fire burned through your core at the touch, your legs quivering from the sudden pain. But you persevered. You did what you had to do, and washed and washed until the water flowing down the drain was no longer pink or carrying any traces of blood. It was done. 

You turned the water off and grabbed the towel, snaking it around you the best you could and dried off, your hair following. It wasn’t an easy task with only one good hand, but you made due. After all, it was your fault you were in this situation to begin with. 

Getting dressed with only one hand proved harder than getting undressed, and the water sticking to your skin did little to help. You had yet to hear anything from the other side of the wall, grateful for the peace at least. You shimmed as much as your core would allow, twisted as much as your arm would allow, but eventually you were fully dressed in clean sweats again. The khaki was not an option at this time, and you were allowed to wear sweats too so it was an easy choice. 

You grabbed your things from the bench, not caring if it wet your new clothes, as long as it didn’t touch your hurt arm. You could barely hold the used pads along with everything else, but managed to balance it all. You walked around the wall, finding Miss Claudette doing her make-up at the sink. You put your things down a few sinks away, chucked the pads in the bin without her seeing, and began to wash your hand, then brush your teeth. 

“Thank you,” you said in a hushed voice, and put the toothbrush in your mouth. 

You didn’t look up at her, keeping your head bowed down. Though, you could feel her eyes on her. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened to you?” she asked, and the only response you gave was slowly shaking your head whilst continuing to brush your teeth. 

You were almost completely apathetic at this point, feeling your grasp on the world losing its grip. It was like your emotions shut down, like you couldn’t feel anything but your physical body, which was not a nice place to live at the moment. Miss Claudette’s voice sounded distorted and far away, or like she was talking underwater. 

“Well,” she said. “I hope you will take more care in the future, child. Prison is not a kind place, and there are many unkind people here. Do your best to keep out of trouble, would you?”

“Yes, Miss Claudette,” came out like an automatic response, your voice completely empty. 

She took her things and turned to look at you. You were still slowly brushing your teeth, your head still down and eyes fixed on a crack in the sink. She said no more, and left you in peace. 

Her leaving didn’t make you feel less alone, or even more alone for that matter. It didn’t affect you. Nothing affected you. Slowly, but clearly, you felt the world slip away and leave you behind. Like there was a new mirror breaking, one you hadn’t seen or felt before, but you were vigorously pounding away at the glass. Like the world had caged you in inside its reflective surface, with nothing but a thin sheet of glass, and you were desperate to get out. Fists pounding away to break the wall, to break free from the bonds of reality. And just like that, you did it. 

O.o.O.o.O

The ride to work was a nice imitation of their normal. Bucky made jokes, threw a few low punches at Steve, which he returned in kind. Usually about their military days, and Steve’s command, and Bucky’s set intentions of never listening to him when he knew it wouldn’t endanger anyone. 

They got to work, walked in through the entry and through the detectors and all, and headed for the staffroom. For some reason it was crowded with officers. Donaldson, Bell, Maxwell, Bennett, Fisher, Kowalski, O’Neill. A few were still missing, having work to do. 

Steve and Bucky both put their things away inside their lockers and hung up their jackets on the hooks available, and walked over to the table were everyone was gathered. There was mail on the table, and Bell, O’Neill, Kowalski and Maxwell were all seated with letters in their hands, but that didn’t seem to be the topic of discussion. 

“What’s going on,” Bucky asked, but before anyone already in the room could answer, Luscheck walked in. 

He wasn’t a team player by any means, and wasn’t the most subtle person on the planet. He had little care for tact. 

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” he asked nonchalantly, like it was clear as day what he was about to say. “There’s been some footage leaked of inmate Harper.”

“Harper?” Steve echoed, gripping the edge of a chair, and leaned to his side on one foot, crossing the other one over. 

“What kind of footage?” Bucky asked, crossing his arms and looking out over the group, who all seemed to await Luscheck’s answer. 

“The violent kind,” he said, sticking both hands in his pockets. 

Steve and Bucky looked to each other, both thinking the same thing. Their initial guilt which had slowly been building was washed away as quickly as the anger came flooding back. Of course, there was footage of your past doings. Of course, it wouldn’t stay hidden what a lying, murdering bitch you were. There was bound to be evidence floating around somewhere, it was just a matter of time before it leaked. And maybe Nate wasn’t the only one to fall victim to your schemes. 

“How violent?” Bucky asked, clenching his jaw as he felt irritation start to brew deep in his gut. 

Luscheck sighed, but fished out his phone. He clicked away before holding it out for the other man to take. 

“That violent.”

The video started to play. But it didn’t show you yelling, damaging or hurting someone or something like they thought it would, it showed you being severely beaten by Millers. Your clothes were dirty and torn where you lay coughing on the floor, trying to get away. There was blood all over you, your face was swollen enough to shut at least an eye, if not both, and Nate was just laughing. The sound of the tape was too roaring for them to make out any words. It looked like it was taking place inside a basement of some sort, or somewhere else with bouncing walls where the camera had been placed. But the tone of his voice was not lost. He was mocking you, taunting you in between kicks and punches, which were all followed by laughter from him, and screams or pained moans from you where you lay crying on the floor. 

Steve looked up from the phone, having been looking over Bucky’s shoulder. 

“When was this taken?” he asked to no one in particular, but Kowalski spoke first. 

“I think that particular one was around November last year, if I’m not mistaken.” The tall, gangly man was still sorting through letters, not wanting to really hear or see any more than he already had. 

“There are plenty more floating around on various websites an’ YouTube,” CO Bell added with her booming jersey voice. “I should’ve guessed.” 

“What do you mean?” O’Neill asked from where he was sitting beside her, their relationship not really a secret among their co-workers. 

“Oh,” she sighed. “Ya should see the state of her body. There are sca’s everywhere. Her chest, her a’ms, her back, her legs, and what’s worse... He’e, I’ll show ya.” 

She picked up her own phone from her pocket and tapped away to get to a link to a different video, and laid her phone flat on the table so everyone could see. Bucky handed the one he had been given back to its owner, and leaned down to see the screen.

“Now, I warn ya,” she said. “This is graphic. She’s naked but, hey, nothing we haven’t all seen befo’e. Well, except for–” she didn’t finish her sentence, just waved her hand at the screen when it started to play the next video. 

It was graphic indeed. Nothing was covered, you were completely naked and beaten bloody, as the camera spanned from top to bottom. Your arms were secured above your head by some means of tying, your wrists scraped bloody, your face was raw from crying, you were barely moving. There were a few cuts along your chest, your breasts carrying some bruises, but then the camera zeroed in on the finale. 

Along your lower abdomen were the angry, open wounds reading WHORE. Blood was seeping from the deep cuts which all looked like they had been carved out of your flesh, the letters big and bold. And then a voice sounded through the speakers. 

_“I never thought you had it in ya.”_

There was no mistaking whose voice it was. Steve and Bucky both shared horrified looks with each other as realization hit like a fricking wrecking ball. Everything came crashing down like a building collapsing on itself, burying them both beneath the debris. Everything Nate had said to them, every undermining remark, every demeaning word about you hadn’t been fantasies or imagines. They didn’t even begin to cover the truth of what he had not only said he wanted to do to you, but had done. 

Both stepped away from their co-workers, not wanting to see anymore, but heard them all still speaking to each other in the background. The women seemed most appalled, the men not far behind. Except Luscheck, who made a proud comment of how tough you had to be to still be conscious. Sick fuck! 

Bucky folded his arms against the lockers and leaned his face into the cushion, his back turned to the others. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe how wrong they both had been about Millers. And you. They’d swallowed everything he had said to them, no questions asked! What the fuck was wrong with them? How did they not see it? He scolded himself for the comment that he should have removed your shirt that night. He should have removed it and then they would have seen the evidence of Nate’s abuse, right there. Bright as day. He never should have believed what that fucking Millers had said! He should have known something wasn’t right!

Steve stood by a far wall, leaning one hand firmly against it, the other on his hip and his head bowed down. He didn’t want to see or hear anything more, he didn’t want to be shown exactly how wrong he had been right from the get-go. How could they both have missed all this about you? You had been cut open, tortured, beaten and most likely raped if Millers’ words were anything to go by, and neither of them had seen it. And it had been right in front of them the entire time. Your obedience, your meekness, the way you recoiled from them even on your first day. And they had given you reason enough to continue on that path. Now they were the monsters. 

“Oh, my god,” officer Fisher let out when a particular gruel shot was shown. 

Her usually soft and friendly face was starting to look more squeamish, contorted in despair and disbelief. She was a kind-hearted woman, this was bound to affect her. 

“I knew there was something about that Millers guy that didn’t sit right,” Maxwell said, opening another letter to check through. 

“Totally,” Kowalski second. 

“Yeah, but this?” Bennett asked. “This is like... Hannibal Lecter psycho level.” 

“Always knew there was something wrong with that guy,” Donaldson said from where he stood, his face as set as stone as always, arms crossed over his chest. “You could tell it from the way he acted with the inmates. Wouldn’t surprise me if he acted out some of those fantasies even here.” 

“Nah,” Luscheck said from behind the group, not looking too affected by all this information. “Would’ve heard about it. These bitches gossip about everything, wouldn’t have taken long for Caputo to find out.” 

And like summoned, Joe Caputo appeared in the doorway. He looked troubled. The look on his face was pained and serious, as he walked into the staffroom and closed the door behind him. He sighed deeply. 

Both Bucky and Steve moved from their hiding places to stand closer to the group, arms crossed. They wanted nothing more than to shrink away, but obligation and duty read strong in their body, their faces following. They were never the ones to take things going awry with an inmate lightly, and certainly not in this situation, where they were the miscreants responsible for making sure your stay at Litchfield was worse than where you had come from. 

“I’m sure you’ve all heard about inmate Harper’s past, maybe even seen some of it,” Caputo said, addressing everyone and getting the attention. “The... footage was leaked early this morning by some anonyms source the police have yet to find, but they are working on it. It has been proven that former correctional officer Nate Millers was responsible for these... assaults. Now, I know some of you were more than colleagues with him–”

“I’d say _way_ more than that,” Luscheck muttered and nodded his head towards Bucky and Steve. 

“Shut your mouth, Luscheck,” Bucky barked back at him, watching the man actually take a small step back, even from across the room. “We were friends, nothing else. And we didn’t know.”

Caputo raised a hand to calm everything down. 

“Yes, yes, it’s all very unfortunate,” he went on. “We all knew him. But this–” he said and pointed to the ground, like everything was in a pile before him. “–none of us knew. And I’m deeply sorry for not having seen it, for giving him the job in the first place. He was obviously a deeply disturbed individual to be able to do this to someone. I think we can all agree on that. But what done is done. We can only focus on what we can change. Now, I have not yet been in contact with anyone in Harper’s legal team. I’m trying to reach the mayor and judge to get to the bottom of how this could slip through their fingers, how she could have been sentenced in the first place.”

“But, sir,” Bennett interrupted. “This doesn’t prove that she didn’t kill Millers. It just proves that he... hurt her. Albeit, very much so.” 

“Yeah, but come on,” Bell said. “There’s no way that little girl meant to kill’im. It was probably an accident.”

“Yeah,” Fisher agreed. “She doesn’t seem capable of murdering anyone. I’m mean, she’s as friendly as be. For an inmate, of course,” she added for good measure, in case she was wrong. 

“I hear ya,” Caputo said. “Now, I don’t believe she did it either. Not by choice, at least. But we can’t jump to any conclusions until I get her lawyer on the phone, and talk to the court to see what will happen. Most likely, her case is going to be reopened and reviewed again. But until that happens, we need to keep this under wraps, okay? Harper doesn’t know any of this yet, and we’re gonna keep it that way until I get control over the situation.”

“How are we going to handle her, sir?” Bennett asked. 

“What?” 

“I mean, if she’s innocent then she doesn’t belong in prison. Should we still treat her like an inmate, or...?”

Caputo sighed, running his hand over his moustache. 

“Yes, you will still treat her like an inmate. Best not let anyone get wind of any of this. But maybe you can... take it easy on her? Maybe not go out of your way to make her stay here more uncomfortable than it already is, okay?” he asked, and everybody nodded.

Steve and Bucky could feel the shame start to eat away at them, building in their chests. _‘Don’t go out of your way to make her stay here more uncomfortable than it already is.’_ Well, that’s what they had been doing since you got here, and they had been proud of it too. They’d literally made sure your time in prison was as bad as can be, even turning your fellow inmates against you. And to now hear that you were a victim of abuse, a survivor of assault and battery... 

“Now,” Caputo continued, oblivious to the two officers racing thoughts and feelings. “I know you are all upset about this, so am I, but you have to keep doing your job like nothing has happened, and let me handle this with the legal team and justice system. We will get to the bottom of this. Alright?” 

Everyone nodded or muttered a ‘yes’ at their captain. Caputo seemed reassured enough by it all. 

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be in my office trying to sort this mess out. If there’s anything you need in the meantime– Rogers, would you mind covering for me as captain during your shift?” 

Steve looked up and med Joe’s eyes, anxiety and stress prominent. He cleared his throat and nodded, pushing down his own anxious emotions. 

“Of course,” he said. 

“Alright,” Caputo said, exhaling loudly as some added pressure was relieved. “Thank you, Steve.” He turned to address the whole room. “If there’s anything you need, Rogers is your man. Talk to him if there’s anything you need, and he will come to me should there be a reason, but I’m sure he can handle everything.” 

The room was silent for a moment. No one said anything or moved from their spots. The tension was palpable, everyone was upset, or angry or sad, either about Millers or you. Steve and Bucky were the main chimneys letting off heat, their emotions running haywire, thoughts racing in their minds, but they kept it on ice until they could have some privacy. This was not the time or place to have a meltdown. 

“Thank you, everyone,” Joe said, nodding to each and everyone in the room. “Keep up the good work, and keep these inmates safe.”

With that, he turned on his heel and headed for the door. He gave Steve a grateful pat on the shoulder for stepping up to the plate and taking on the responsibility as captain and coordinator should anything erupt. If only he knew the weight that was already on Steve’s shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's in the light! More truth will be revealed but it has begun! Was it like you expected? ;) 
> 
> More of Steve and Bucky's thoughts and feelings in the next chapter!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reality starts to hit our boys.
> 
> Also, Bruce Banner makes an appearance!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basic TRIGGERWARNING due to everything that has happened and is talked about and referred to. 
> 
> Also, please forgive any rudeness in the first part, I just needed it to be somewhat like what Steve and Bucky did...

Dinner was due in half an hour. They had half an hour before the prison was going to get buzzing with inmates. Half an hour to get their shit together. 

Bucky and Steve had hidden away in the corridors leading down to supply rooms and the maintenance storage, trying to find an empty spot where they could talk in private. No one ever came down here unless they had to, it wasn’t the most spotless place to be at. 

Steve stood leaning his back against a wall, holding his elbows, staring down at a spot on the ground, where Bucky was currently pacing with his hands running through his hair. They hadn’t said a word to each other about it yet, but it was very clear the same thoughts and emotions were running through them both, twisting and turning everything they had done into the horrible actions that they actually were. The smokescreen was gone.

There was no hiding from it anymore, there was no justifying it. They hadn’t been in the right, they hadn’t punished you for something you did wrong, they had punished you for staying alive, for surviving. They had defended Millers, defended his actions and stood by them without even knowing, thinking they were rectifying something, when in truth, all they did was pile it on. They had even told you that it was your fault. That you deserved it. No one deserved to be raped and beaten for defending their own life. 

“I don’t even know what to say,” Steve said eventually, still not looking up from that very interesting spot on the ground. 

Bucky nodded, kept nodding his head over and over until he stopped dead, leaning his head back to release a loud sigh. 

“I don’t think there’s anything we _can_ say, Steve.” 

Now it was Steve’s turn to nod, the only movement he had done since they went down to the corridors. Bucky was moving around nonstop; kicking his feet, folding then unfolding his arms, running his fingers through his hair for the millionth time. He didn’t know what to do with himself, neither did Steve. 

“What do you think he did to her?” Steve asked. 

Bucky sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t know how much worse it could get than–”

He didn’t need to finish. He didn’t need to say it. They both knew what he was referring to. The word written, _carved_ , into your belly. The big, bold letters bleeding and staring at the camera, screaming at them to face their actions. 

“I don’t know,” he said again. 

A moment ticked by in silence before Steve spoke again. 

“Think he raped her?”

“Fuck, Steve! How would I know?” Bucky yelled, frustration tearing away at him. He took a deep breath, held it for a second or two, before slowly exhaling, letting the anger go with it. “Sorry, I just–” he started again, but couldn’t finish, instead cradling his head in his hands, hiding away. 

There wasn’t much doubt in his mind that Millers had molested you several times. The way he had talked about you, described what he wanted to do, fantasies of violence and control, which he and Steve ate up like cotton candy. That time in the laundry room was probably not the first time you had experienced such violence being done to you.

Steve finally looked up, finding his friend standing in front of him with his side turned to him, face in his hands. 

“Remember in Iraq,” Steve started, his voice soft. “When we saved those women from being raped by some Iraqis?” He gave a soft chuckle. “All they had done was accidentally show some skin on their arms, and those men had every right to do that to ‘em. Because they accidentally showed some skin they weren’t supposed to.”

Bucky looked up at the sound of Steve scoffing who was looking to the side of his head for a quick second before meeting his eyes. He looked torn between emotions. Pride for having saved those women, ridiculing the punishment for the crime, and sadness for having done even worse himself. 

“I felt good about that, Buck. For saving them. For not letting those men beat or rape those women, I felt good. In their eyes they had every right to do that, to punish them. They were in the right. But we—we... we were never in the right, were we? We thought that we were, we defended our actions even, but... I don’t know how to live with that. My entire life, I have always been the good guy. The guy who stands up to the other guy, saves the day, protect the ones that can’t protect themselves. But this, I—”

“Steve,” Bucky said when he heard Steve’s voice start to break. “We didn’t know. We didn’t know what Millers had done, we—” 

He stopped himself short. He didn’t want to defend their actions anymore. They had done enough of that, and look what happened. They had even gone as far as to raping you. As a form of punishment. He was done justifying it. 

It wasn’t domination, it wasn’t a powerplay. It was rape. It wasn’t a consensual schtick where everyone was onboard with what was happening, you didn’t agree to any of that taking place. They had forced you, they had hurt you and made you submit. Give up. And during it all, they had gone on and on about how it was your fault they did it, how it was divine retribution. 

“You’re right,” Bucky said in a dejected tone, kicking the ground with the heel of his boot. “We’re not heroes anymore. We’re rapists.” 

He had said it. It was finally out in the open. What they had both been thinking, what they had both been feeling since it happened, but never dared admit. They could finally admit to themselves that they had in fact been feeling bad about that night, about what they had done to you. Seeing you limping back to the dorm, it wasn’t pride they were feeling. It was dishonour. Disgrace. 

How had they gone from being American heroes to rapists? Where had they tripped up along the way to let that happen without seeing it coming? Was Millers that convincing in his arguments? Whatever it was, they had to make it up to you. They had to make it right. 

“So,” Bucky said before sighing, hoping to regain some sanity and maybe some clarity. “What do we do now? How do we fix it?” 

There had to be a way to fix it, to make everything better. Bucky had always been good at fixing things that were broken. And he had to fix you, because he was the one who broke you. Both him and Steve had always been the ones to look for solutions, ways to mend and heal things. They _had_ to fix this.

Steve worried his bottom lip between his teeth, contemplating the best options to move forward. There wasn’t much they _could_ do, they couldn’t exactly un-rape you, but they had to make amends in some way. Or at least try. 

Steve took a deep breath before releasing it with a loud huff, standing up straight to get himself out of the self-pity-hole. 

“Well,” he said. “There’s not much we can do before Caputo gets in touch with the legal team. We have to keep quiet about it, and going up to her and... explaining everything now would defeat that purpose. So, I say we keep an eye out for her, make sure no one messes with her. After all, it's our fault everyone is gunning for her. We... keep our distance, keep an eye out and wait.”

“We wait,” Bucky echoed, nodding as he spoke. 

There was no undoing it. No way of taking it back. They couldn’t unring that bell. All they could do was make up for it, make sure nothing more happened to you. Keep you safe. At the moment they had to do it from a distance, they couldn’t talk to you about what they knew, not yet. They could only protect you as the correctional officers they were. It wasn’t enough by a long shot, but it was something. They had the power to protect you, and they would. 

O.o.O.o.O

Everyone was heading towards the cafeteria. The ground was shuddering from the impacts of everyone rushing to get there first, get their food while it was hot. The initial line was always long and moved slow, so unless you were the winner of the race, you would still risk eating cooling food. 

You were lying atop your blanket, looking up at the ceiling and waiting for everyone to leave the dorm. You would soon follow, but you didn’t mind some peace and quiet beforehand. There was a low and steady rumble to your stomach. You hadn’t eaten or drank anything in days, and you were starting to feel the affects of that decision. 

It wasn’t the only reason you were going. The officers had been more than lenient with you and allowed you to not get up for meals or anything, but you doubted it would stay that way for long. Officer Barnes had ordered you to always be at attendance during meals, and you were not about to disobey a direct order. 

Walking was getting easier. Your steps weren’t as staggering as they had been. They were still short, and not very quick, and if you kept them that way, it was semi painless to walk. Even though your wrist was still loudly complaining about the movement. Anything that wasn’t lying horizontal and resting meant a world of pain. 

The hoodie covered your neck enough to not let the bruises show, and the extra warmth was welcomed. Being in a constant state of pain was taking its toll, and your body was slowly shutting down. Hopefully some food and water would remedy that. 

You kept your head down through the entire line, and thankfully no one bothered you. Perhaps they didn’t want to catch whatever virus you had. You had heard that you were ‘ill’, explaining the leniency of the other guards. It was a good enough cover for your weakened state too, so you didn’t care to try and put on a mask of strength, but let the tiredness read true. 

A tray was held out for you to take, an empty cup seated on it. You reached out your good hand and took a hold of it, testing to see if you could bare the weight. Usually it wouldn’t be a problem to carry such a light tray in one hand, or even balance it, but every tension of muscle ached down to your wrist, making you wince at the burn. 

You managed to keep the tray and everything on it steady until you could set it down at the closest table, and went to fill up your cup with water. You knew it was risky to leave your food unattended, but whatever the inmates might do to it, you’d been forced to eat worse, you were sure. 

You were so used to having eyes on you that you failed to realize when both Steve and Bucky, along with CO Bell, walked into the cafeteria, zeroing in on you, where you were now seated. They watched you struggle to eat with one hand, the other being kept close to your chest. The hoodie you were wearing covered even most of your hand so none of the guards could see any damage or bruising, but you looked like you were hurting. Steve and Bucky, both knowing the truth of that statement, felt a pang of guilt course through them. They didn’t know about your wrist being as hurt as it was, but they knew they were responsible for your pain, no matter where it resonated from. 

“Jesus, hasn’t she been through enough already?” Bell said low under her breath to her fellow officers, upset about learning the truth and forced to witness more. 

They were all watching you eat. You were looking so pale, and you were moving very slowly. Whatever had you bedridden for all those days didn’t seem to be fully gone yet. But it didn’t look like a fever or a cold was what had you grimacing and wincing every now and again. 

Steve and Bucky couldn’t help but look between you and each other, the guilt piling on like bricks on a wall. You were hurting, and severally so. You couldn’t even try to hide it by the looks of it. They understood now what pain you must be in after the rape. You had fought them both pretty hard to not let it happen, and they had sure taken their frustrations out on you. It must hurt to even sit down. 

You didn’t look up, but you knew Steve and Bucky were in the cafeteria with you. For some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything at all. There was no dread, no apprehension, no worry, nothing. You couldn’t feel anything anymore. They were there, thirty feet away from you, and you couldn’t even muster up fear. Before, you would have been shaking like a leaf from just being in the same room as them. You would have flinched whenever they moved. Now, you just focused on the small amount of food left on your tray, and let the officer do whatever they wanted. You couldn’t stop them no matter what, trying just made it harder. 

You stood up awkwardly, your legs quivering from the strain to not move too much and be in even more pain than you were. It was hard to get a good grip on the tray and not stumble too much at the same time, but eventually you got there, wincing. 

The three officers watched as you struggled, taking short, now staggering steps towards the trash to bus your tray, your other arm still kept close. CO Bell couldn’t just stand around anymore, letting out a tense sigh. 

“I’ve seen enough,” she said and walked up to you. 

You were facing the bin with the dirty trays, but your eyes looked glazed over and far away. You didn’t raise your eyes when officer Bell approached you. 

“Ey,” she said, not too loud but not exactly a whisper either. “Are you okay?”

How come people always asked that when they already knew the answer? 

“I’m fine,” you said, but your tone was as shallow and wooden as a puppet on a string. 

“You don’t look it,” Bell pushed. “How’s your arm? Seems painful.”

“It’s fine.” 

The tray was in the bin to be washed, your food was thrown away. But the officer was still talking to you, so you didn’t move away. You didn’t turn towards her either, you just waited for her to be done with whatever she was after, and you could go back to your bunk. 

“Let me see,” Bell said, almost like an order, and you knew better than to disobey an order. 

Slowly you gripped the hem of your hoodie and started to pull it up to uncover your dark and swollen wrist. The bruising was slowly starting to flow down onto your hand, snaking further up your arm as well. It looked pretty mangled. 

“Ah, Jesus,” Bell sighed, and looked out across the room, assessing the need for guards in the cafeteria. “You need to go to medical.” 

The plan was not to go to medical, but if a CO said so, you were going. 

“Okay,” you said meekly, and let the officer put her arm around you and start leading you towards the exit, rolling your sleeve back down to cover the mess. 

But she didn’t leave with you like you thought she would. Instead she walked up to CO Rogers and Barnes and told them of the situation. 

“She needs medical attention. I’d take her, but my shift ends in fifteen minutes and this is gonna take longer.” 

Steve and Bucky both looked down at you where you stood with your head bowed down, not meeting their eyes. You didn’t look afraid like you usually did, you didn’t look like you were about five seconds from bolting out of there. You just waited. 

Medical attention. They had hurt you enough that you needed medical attention, and that was from an arm only. Both men loathed themselves right now, standing there, looking down at your dispirited figure just waiting for them to do whatever they wanted to you. You looked beat. Completely and utterly unresponsive. What had they done? 

“I’ll take her,” Steve said. “You guys supervise the cafeteria.”

He looked to Bucky standing beside him. Steve knew Bucky must be feeling guilty for being the first one to rape you, even though they both shared the blame, despite who went first. Steve didn’t think Bucky was more at fault than he was, but by the look on his face, Bucky did not agree with him on that. Though Steve felt he was more at fault for being the first to touch you in a sexual manner, whilst Bucky only made a mess of your cell. But Steve still thought it kindest to let Bucky avoid watching you go through a medical check. Though he himself was slightly worried about what the nurse would find. 

You looked down on the ground, not daring to take a step without being told to. You would do what they said, when they said, and not before. It was best, safest. You knew how to play this game, you knew the rules. So, you kept your head down. 

Steve took a surprisingly light hold of your upper arm, your good arm, and started leading you out of the cafeteria. He didn’t push, he didn’t drag you along with him carelessly. Instead he slowed his own steps to make sure you could keep up, almost like he understood that you were in pain, and cared. You knew better than to think that. You had probably just caught him on a good day. 

The hallways and corridors to medical were winding and turning. It seemed to be located as far from everything else as was possible. There were no inmates in these parts, no people at all. A perfect place for yet another assault. 

You were sure it was going to happen, the place was too vacant for a man not to take advantage. And you had already passed several closets that would be optimal for privacy if the officer didn’t want to risk getting caught. But it didn’t happen. What did happen, was Steve letting go of your arm when you were out of sight, when no one could see him not escorting you like he should. You thought it strange, that instead of touching you more, he chose not to touch you at all. But it was no relief. Nothing was a relief anymore. 

The entire way down to medical Steve wanted so bad to just apologize, to ask how badly you were hurt, to save the day. Taking you to see a nurse was as close as he was going to get, and he had to accept that. But at least he could show you the compassion of not holding onto you, not forcing you to go with him. Even though you followed like a lost puppy who just got wacked on the nose. 

Steve looked down at you every now and then, only ever seeing the top of your head between your scrunched-up shoulders and bulky hoodie. You were still holding your arm close to you, and when he moved to once again take a light hold of your other arm before entering the nurse’s station, he didn’t miss the slight shift you made to keep the damaged appendage away from him. He felt his heart sink like a rock in his chest at the gesture, knowing he was the cause of your fear, and what he had done to increase it to such levels. 

You mentally scolded yourself for flinching and turning away from the officer. If he wanted to hurt you, he could. If you moved away from him it might just give him a reason to. Nate was always quick to make you hurt whenever you tried to shield yourself or part of your body from him. Usually it meant that particular body part got the worst of it, just to make a point. But Steve didn’t hurt you, or scolded you for turning away from him, instead his grip on your upper arm eased slightly. But why, you couldn’t understand. 

Steve pushed the door into medical open, leading you through, but not pulling. You kept close to his side to keep that from happening, keeping the pace of his steps as to not upset him. It hurt having to walk as far as all the way down to medical, but a long as he didn’t hurt you more, it was worth it. 

The walls were just as pale and sterile as any hospital room, but the top half of the walls were windows, allowing for a good overview. There was a short hallway separating two rooms. On your right was what looked like a patient’s room, with two beds in it, and several cabinets on the far side wall, all with combination locks on them. There were a few trays and trolleys and rods for IV drips standing by the beds, ready to be used. On the other side was an examination room, and inside was a desk, a bookshelf and more cabinets, each with a lock, and a cot.

Steve knocked on the door to the examination room, and opened the door when hearing a man say ‘yeah’ inside. The nurse, Bruce Banner you read on the nametag sitting on the desk, was sitting in his chair, tapping away on his computer. He had slightly longer hair, ruffled and kind of unkempt looking, but he looked very kind. He didn’t seem too stiff like most medical workers you had met, and there had been a few over the years. And honestly, you were somewhat relieved to find it was a man working, and not a woman. A woman might be more inclined to ask more personal questions. At least in your experience. 

He looked up from his computer screen, and noticed your timid and shrunk up figure standing next to the officer, who was still holding onto you. 

“How can I help?” Bruce asked, and scooted back on his swivel chair. 

You knew it wasn’t your place to answer. They didn’t trust inmates, not in any way, that’s why Steve was there. He wasn’t only there to provide physical protection from you, he was also there to make sure everything went accordingly. 

“She’s hurt her arm,” Steve started, and was there a slight chagrin in his voice? “Or wrist, I’m not sure.” 

Nurse Banner nodded, and looked over to where you stood, still clutching your arm to you. 

“I see,” he said, tone friendly and light. “Name?” 

He rose to his feet and walked over to a file cabinet standing in a corner, ready to dig out his copy of your file. He waited for the officer to answer, you assumed, cause in no way were you about to speak out of turn. 

“Jessabelle Harper,” Steve said. “Number 45621.” 

Steve didn’t need to look down to know your inmate number, and you weren’t surprised by the fact. Bucky also knew it by heart, he had proven that when giving you a shot for not wearing your tag, which had the number written on it. 

Bruce found your file, picked it up and shut and locked the cabinet again. He walked back closer to where you were standing, noticing how you still hadn’t met his gaze yet. 

“Alright,” he said just as cheeringly as he had everything else. “Take a seat.” 

He nodded to the cot, and you did what he asked. Steve went with, and only ever let go of you once you were seated. Had he helped you get up? It certainly felt like he pulled on you a bit when you went to sit, and the pain wasn’t as bad because of the angle. That, and the fact that the cot was much softer than your bed. Steve took a step back, standing to both yours and the nurse’s sides, folding his arms and simply did his job of overseeing things. 

“Let’s take a looksie,” Bruce said, and sat down on the revolving stool placed before you.

He reached his hands out to take your arm from you, and you let him. When his fingers touched yours, he moved the muscles and tendons in your wrist, and you clenched your jaw to keep quiet, closing your eyes for just a moment while the pain subsided as he started rolling your sleeve up. 

He hissed when he got a good look of your wrist. Steve didn’t say anything, but in his mind, he was horrified when seeing the damaged done. Your wrist looked mangled and very, very painful. How had you been walking around with that and not crumpled? 

“Oh, dear,” Bruce said, turning his head to look at it from all angles without moving your arm. 

“How bad is it?” Steve asked before he could stop himself. 

He shouldn’t be, and at the very least not sound, worried about an inmate. He had accompanied several other inmates to see the nurse before, and never had he uttered a word about their condition, or asked how they were doing. And certainly not with a rush and tightness to his voice. 

“Uhm...” Bruce started. “It’s pretty roughed up. It looks broken, but I can’t be sure without an x-ray,” he said to answer Steve’s question, before turning to you. “When did this happen?”

Steve felt a pang of guilt hit him. It had been several days since the _incident_ , as he liked to refer it as in his head, and you had yet to seek medical help. You must have munched down on painkillers in order to walk around with that and not be in constant pain. 

“A few days ago, sir,” you said, tone as wooden as ever. 

Banner nodded, and started pressing down higher up on your arm, testing to see how badly your muscles ached, noting the spreading bruises creeping further and further up your arm. 

“Why didn’t you seek medical attention right away?” he asked, eyes darting up to you every once in a while, but never once did your eyes meet his. 

“Didn’t seem that bad, sir.” 

Neither men believed that to be true. A break like this felt very different to just a sprain or a bad bruise. You must have known you were in bad shape, but for some reason chose not to put it on record. 

“How did it happen?” 

Dread bloomed in Steve’s chest. What would you say? They question was directed to you, so he couldn’t interject. And if he did, Banner would think it strange that Steve had been present during the breaks making without intervening, also that he didn’t take you down to see the nurse before now. He just had to hope you wouldn’t say anything, hating himself even more for wanting to protect his own when you were the one hurt. By him and Bucky.

“I fell,” you said, voice like you were stating the obvious, and Steve almost visibly relaxed, hating himself even more for doing so. 

You didn’t look up to meet the nurse’s eyes, or even acknowledge that there were people in the room with you to begin with. You just sat there, gaze fixed on a spot on the floor, eyes vacant. Bruce was still holding your arm, examining the bruises. 

“You fell?” he asked. 

“Yes, sir. Down the stairs.” 

“Okay,” he said, keeping his tone friendly. 

Bruce looked up at Steve, a furrow between his brows. Steve raised a questioning brow of his own down at the nurse where he sat, feeling his heart beat hard against his ribcage. 

“Has there been any fights recently?” Bruce asked the officer. 

Steve looked contemplating, when he was in truth just taking a moment to get rid of the worry wedged in his throat. 

“No, not to my knowledge. I should have heard had there been any.” 

Bruce nodded. 

“This break... it doesn’t look like something you get from falling,” he explained. “I think someone broke her wrist.” 

And the worry was back in Steve’s chest. Which was stupid, but that didn’t make him not feel it. This was a prison for crying out loud. Fights amongst inmates were a regular occurrence, maybe not to the extent where bones were broken but still, this was a building housing criminals. And he was an officer. He himself might be feeling like shit, knowing everything horrible he had done to you, knowing what kind of a monster he truly was, but to the nurse he was the protector and caretaker of these violent criminals. No way was he accusing Steve of anything. 

“Really?” Steve asked, and kept his tone as firm as was appropriate. 

Bruce did a quick jerk of his head sideways. 

“Well, I can’t be sure, of course, but it does look like it,” he said, letting go of your arm, which immediately came back to rest against your chest. 

He looked you over, taking you in. Your set gaze on the floor, the angle of your head which was constantly down, the way you seemed to be somewhere else in your head. Or maybe just not too fond of the way the two men were speaking like you weren’t in the room. 

“Did somebody to this to you?” he asked, toned hushed and kind. 

Steve was hoping you would keep on lying, and not fall for Banner’s friendly talk, trying to get information out of you. You were bound to disappoint one of the men, Steve just hoped it wasn’t him. 

“No, sir. I just fell.” 

“You just fell,” Bruce repeated, nodding shortly. “Are you sure?” 

This situation wasn’t new to you. You had been in rooms like this, with nurses and doctors like this many times before. No one ever really believed the story about having fallen down the stairs, but it was a good cover nevertheless, as long as you stuck to it. 

“Yes, sir,” you said again. “It was my fault.” 

When hearing those words, Steve couldn’t help but begin to take a step towards you, wanting to apologize, tell you he was sorry that he said that, and that it truly wasn’t your fault. But he caught himself just in time, covering his movement up with rearranging his footing. In his head, it was a tornado of apologies flying around. He just wished he could open his mouth and let them all out. 

“What about these old cuts here?” Bruce asked, and motioned to your forehead and cheek. “That from a fall too?”

You could tell he didn’t believe you, but that didn’t matter, he could search for the truth however much he wanted, he still wasn’t going to get it. You hadn’t spoken of the truth to such events before, even though Nate had never been in the examining room with you. Now, one of the men who hit you, kicked you and raped you, were standing not even three feet away.

“I’m clumsy, sir.”

Bruce left it alone, getting the feeling that he wasn’t going to get anything out of you at this rate anyway, and decided to just continue on with his check. 

“Okay,” he said. “I’m gonna need to do an x-ray and check exactly where the break is and how bad. Now, I’ve got a portable one but it’s in the backroom. You guys hang tight.” 

Bruce patted your leg reassuringly, before walking out to the hallway and further down, supposedly to where the backroom was. Now it was only you and Steve in the room. 

You didn’t move from your spot on the cot, you didn’t even look up at the officer standing next to you, but you felt his eyes. You always felt his eyes. 

Steve was pondering whether or not to apologize anyway, you didn’t need to know about the footage, he could simply apologize for being an asshole, a monster, for raping you. Claiming temporary insanity, just anything to say he was sorry. You looked so pitiful where you sat with your sleeve rolled up and broken wrist exposed. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the dark and swollen bruising, almost feeling a phantom pain of it in his own. He couldn’t help it, he had to say something. Just... anything. 

“Are you okay?” 

Stupid question! Of course, you weren’t okay. Why didn’t he ask something better? He had always been good with words and taking care of people, and then in the situation where it matters the most, when standing next to the woman he raped, the best he could come up with was ‘are you okay’? 

“I’m fine, sir, thank you.” 

No, you weren’t. Not by a longshot. You had been walking around with a broken wrist for days, and god knows how many more injuries they inflicted on you. Steve was going through every hateful scene in his head, trying to find out when and where they had managed to hurt you this badly, and whatever else they might have caused without realizing it. What had Nate done to you to render you this compliant? Steve had never felt worse about himself than in that moment, standing in that medical room with you, his wrongdoings staring him right in the face. ‘Look at what you’ve done.’ If it was anyone’s fault, it was his. 

Bruce came back into the room before Steve could utter another word, and he didn’t know whether to be thankful or not. Would he had come up with something better, something more comforting if you two weren’t interrupted? 

“Okay,” Bruce muttered as he rolled in the portable x-ray machine. 

It wasn’t very big, not for an x-ray, but it was ungainly and didn’t seem to want to move to where Bruce needed it. He managed to get it next to the cot, and plugged in all the cords that needed to be plugged in, both into the outlet and his computer. He patted higher up on the bed. 

“Have a lie down and we’ll get this thing going. Be careful!” 

Bruce was very attentive to you when you moved higher up on the bed, wincing and hissing involuntarily, but thankfully you already had a damage body part out in the open and blameable for any pain. You laid back down and held out your arm for him to move where he pleased, gaze set up in the ceiling, still just going through the motions more than actively participating. He put it on a plate and changed the settings to where he wanted them, and pressed a button. The machine hissed before beeping, and Bruce went over to his computer to see if the image was up to par. 

“Okay,” he said, drawn out, and sat down at his desk to look over the picture. 

You stayed where you were, not wanting to move and cause even more pain to erupt everywhere, your vagina still being the biggest complainer. Thankfully your ribs hadn’t complained much since that night where it had blossomed again, but your entire body felt drained of energy and stiff whenever you moved, which wasn’t a comfortable feeling. It seemed no matter what you did, you were always in pain. 

Steve gathered that you wouldn’t even dare move a muscle without being told, so he thought it was risk-free to go stand behind Banner and get a look of the damage he or Bucky had caused with his own eyes. His pulse started racing, he felt his heart beat hard in his chest as he fought all the thoughts that wanted to take over, and not let him asses the situation. But _that_ , he had experience with. Life in a warzone was pretty much just a big test to see if you could keep your composure when it mattered the most. 

He looked down on the screen, not really knowing what he was looking at. He had never seen an x-ray picture of a hand before, and just saw a muddle of fingers and bones. Bruce looked up at the tall officer leaning over his shoulder to see. He pointed to the break. 

“That’s the break. It’s a distal radius fracture, also known as a Colle’s facture.” 

Steve nodded along, grateful for the explanation. 

“How could it happen?” he asked, thinking Banner would most likely just take it as an interest in the anatomy and whatnot. “I mean, breaking a bone can happen easily, right?” At least he hoped so.

“Yeah, it can, but not a break like this. You’d have to be pretty strong to break a bone like this. See how that bone is set out of place?” he asked and pointed to where a bone stuck out. “Either the inmate that did this is a bodybuilder, or she got a pretty good velocity when turning her wrist over.” 

You overheard everything they were saying, they weren’t speaking in hushed voices or anything. You were used to people talking about you like you weren’t in the room, especially during times like these. The notion of it being an inmate that had caused the damage was a preferable one to the nurse getting wind of the officers’ abuse. You really didn’t care to get a beating for not being inconspicuous enough. It was fine if he didn’t believe that you fell, as long as he didn’t think it was any of the COs that had done it. Should the truth come out, they would probably rain hellfire on you for letting it slip, for not being a good enough liar, for betraying them. 

Steve stepped back to where he had been planted just inside the door, once again folding his arms, letting Bruce stand up and walk over to where you lay still, and removed the machine, which proved to be a task. Steve hated that he was relieved by Banner’s suspicions of it being an inmate and not a fall, which he could understand. Working at a prison with violent criminals and emotions running haywire was a great cover for any officer abusing an inmate. He just never thought he would be glad to have that cover. 

Once the machine was out of the way, Bruce told you to sit back up again, which proved difficult to do without showing too much pain. You managed to catch most of the winces and whimpers wanting to escape. 

Bruce sat back down on his stool in front of the cot, and looked up at you, despite you still not meeting his eyes. 

“There’s a break in the larger of the two bones in your forearm,” he started to explain, hoping you logged the information despite your seeming apathetic state. “It’s not too uncommon. The bone breaks on the lower end, close to where it connects to the bones of the hand, but in your case, the bone is not in the correct position to heal. It needs to be reset by an orthopaedic surgeon,” he said, aiming that last part more at Steve than you, who nodded at everything Bruce said. “She needs to go to the hospital and have it reset. I can put on a splint until then, but this needs to be fixed as soon as possible, or she may have permanent damage.” He turned back to direct his speaking to you, knowing the officer was hearing everything anyway. “Resetting it is pretty painful so it’s usually done with anaesthesia, so you have nothing to worry about. What have you taken for the pain until now?” 

He picked up a clipboard and started scribbling everything down, checking your file for some information as well. 

“Nothing, sir.” 

Bruce stopped dead at that, and Steve unfolded his arms and almost made to scold you like a parent would a child who hadn’t done its homework in time. 

“You—You haven’t taken anything for the pain?” Bruce asked and looked to Steve who was just as baffled as he was. 

“No, sir.” 

“But your wrist has been broken for days,” Steve blurted out, not understanding how you had not been lying in a heap crying. 

You didn’t answer it, it wasn’t a question, it was more of a statement to make things clear. You just kept your eyes down on the floor instead. 

“Wh—why haven’t you taken any painkillers?” Bruce asked, checking your file to see if there was a history of substance abuse, but he couldn’t find any. 

You weren’t really sure what to say. Should you let the nice nurse know that you had been bedridden since it happened? But that might just cause more questions, and you had enough trouble dodging everything as it were. You opted for a semi-truth. 

“I don’t think my commissary has come in yet, sir.” 

They sold aspirin in commissary, you had seen it that day when Steve had asked you to be there and buy shampoo. You had thought about getting up and maybe try to get some, but sleep had worked well enough, and like you said, you weren’t entirely sure you would be able to access your money, but it wasn’t because of the paperwork not being done... 

Steve sighed, not believing how guilt could just be piled atop more guilt by the second. Not only had they broken your wrist, not only had several days passed since it happened, you hadn’t even taken any painkillers to help ease the pain. He could read between the lines, and understood that the reason you hadn’t even checked the commissary was because of what he had done last time. You probably didn’t trust that you would be allowed to buy anything, not even something as essential as aspirin. This was a nightmare, and he was still the monster. 

“Wow,” Bruce said, and scribbled even more notes down. “Your threshold must be high like a skyscraper. Are you hurt anywhere else?” 

Again, the worry came back like another wave hitting the shore, and Steve looked worriedly over at you. If Banner wanted to look you over for more injuries, he might find some that would be hard to explain. Both him and Bucky had tried to make sure they wouldn’t leave any incriminating marks, but excitement might have gotten the best of them, something he hated to think about now. 

But you kept covering for him. 

“No, sir.” 

“Really?” Bruce said. “I find that very hard to believe, that you fell down the stairs and manged to hurt your wrist so badly, but not be hurt anywhere else.” 

If you showed the nurse any more of your bruises, he might find something you couldn’t explain away. Had the officer left any finger marks? Were the bruises on your shoulder resembling hickeys? They were both from mouth and hands, so there was a risk the kind nurse might find them and ask ever more complicated questions. 

“I guess I was lucky, sir,” you said, hearing the repetitiveness of always adding an honorific, but you knew the rules, so you kept playing by them. 

Bruce hummed and nodded, looking between you and the officer. Steve raised a shoulder in a half-shrug when he met the questioning eyes of the nurse, hoping he didn’t look like he was caught with his hand down the cookie jar of battery and rape. 

“Nevertheless,” Bruce continued. “I would like to do a check to see that there isn’t anything else that needs care. Afterall, you didn’t think your wrist was this bad, now, did you?” 

He wasn’t being rude, he was prying for information. Trying to trick you into confessing that someone had indeed hurt you, and that all this wasn’t an accident. But you feared the officer more than the nurse. 

“That’s okay, sir,” you said, feeling the slight increasing beat of your heart at the worry of not being listened to. “I’m fine. It was just my wrist that was hurting.” 

“That may be so, but what if there’s something we’re missing?” Bruce countered. “A fall down the stairs could do severe damaged to several parts of your body, and it might not all feel as bad as your wrist. There could be some internal bleeding.”

“There’s not,” you said calmly with a light tone. “I showered earlier and there is no other bruising anywhere else. I’m fine.” 

Steve hoped and prayed that the nurse listened to you and didn’t try to push any further. Steve knew you were lying. There was bound to be severe bruising after their treatment of you, if they managed to break your wrist in the midst of it. He could still feel the softness of your skin on his palms and fingers, now feeling the pressure he had used to handle you. He had hurt you, and there was bound to be more proof than just a broken wrist. 

Bruce nodded. He knew when to push and when not to, and you were not breaking your façade, and he did not want to force you. He didn’t believe for one second that you had fallen down the stairs, but you were more than inclined to not let the truth be revealed, for whatever reason. 

“If you say so,” he began. “But I must utter my recommendation to reconsider, and let me do the check. Unless there’s another reason you don’t want me to take a look?” 

“There’s not, sir.” 

Bruce looked over at Steve, finding him looking you up and down with a worried frown on his face, his expression caring. He looked back to you. 

“Would you like a female nurse instead?” 

Steve held his breath, just for a second, hoping that luck would once again be on his side and not have you say yes to Banner’s question. If you did, he knew you would let the nurse check you for injuries and finding there are many more like that very bad break. And if she did, she might find the tracks of it coinciding with rape, and then the heat would be on the male officers, and not an inmate. 

“No thank you, sir,” you said meekly, and Steve released a breath of relief. “But thank you for asking,” you added, and Steve felt his heart sink deeper. 

You were so polite you thanked a nurse for showing you basic kindness and care. It was that easy to show you thoughtfulness, all one needed to do was offer you a second option. But you were loyal to a fault, and had lied your way through a medical check-up, which could potentially benefit you in more ways than simply splinting your wrist, just to keep the truth in the dark and not let him or Bucky take the fall. Steve felt like he was a punching bag, taking punch after punch after punch of reality. 

“Okay, then,” Bruce said and got up to get the things he needed to splint your wrist. 

He made quick work of it, despite taking extra care as to not cause you even more pain than you had already been forced to endure. During it all, you had been more than sparse with the complaints or winces, taking it like a champ. Neither men were particularly surprised though. 

“Okay,” Bruce said and let go of your arm. “That should hold you until you get to the hospital, and I will write everything down for the officers to take with them when you go, so it should be pretty straight forward when you get there.” 

“Thank you, sir,” you said meekly, and for the first time you let your hand fall down, feeling the relief in your shoulder and bicep. 

“You’re welcome,” Bruce said with a smile, watching your face go from ‘severe pain’ to just ‘uncomfortable’. 

He swivelled around on the stool, and started writing things down on the clipboard, entering information about the check-up and what he had done, making sure everything was accounted for. He looked up at Steve, who was looking as relieved as you at the lessening of pain in your wrist. 

“How soon can she be taken to the hospital?” 

Steve looked almost startled as Banner’s question was directed towards him, taking a deep breath as he thought about how many officers were working, and the managing of camp. 

“Uh, not sure if we can manage it today, but I’ll look into it and make sure we take her as soon as possible,” he said. “Could always get a body up from down the hill to help cover for us and go tonight.”

“That would be great,” Bruce said, still scribbling things down. “The sooner the better. I think Harper here has had to deal with more pain than necessary already. I’ll give her something for the pain to last her through the day.” 

Steve couldn’t agree more. If he could turn back time, he would without thinking twice. But if taking you to the hospital was the best option without time traveling, then he would make sure you at least got there tonight. 

Nurse Banner gave you some morphine pills to take away the acute pain, and gave Steve all the paperwork he would need for a quick entry and treatment at the hospital. He said he would call ahead and make sure they knew you were coming, as was protocol whenever an inmate left the perimeter for medical help, or otherwise. He sent you on your way and Steve placed his hand on your upper arm once again, his grip just as easy as before. You weren’t sure if he did it just for show, or if it was maybe a power thing. Both of you knew that you wouldn’t try anything should he not hold on to you at all, so maybe his grip was just to mock you more than anything else. 

You left the nurse’s station with Steve walking slower than was his normal beside you, your steps short and wobbling when the nurse wasn’t looking. You could fake it for some time, but not the entire way. Steve looked down at you every now and then, but you didn’t feel any anger radiating off of him. Whatever he was thinking and feeling, it didn’t seem like he was cross with you for anything you had said or done during the check, so at least there’s that. These officers seemed to want to play by the same rules as Nate, so it made it easier for you to not earn a punishment due to lack of understanding how to play the game. 

“I’ll make sure we get you to the hospital tonight,” Steve said after several long moments of silence. 

He wanted to say so much more than that, but he couldn’t. If he had managed to keep his mouth shut during the entire check-up, then he could keep it shut for a while longer. But the raging tornado of apologies was still coursing through his head, tearing at his heart and making him sick to his stomach. A hospital appointment to fix what he or Bucky had broken was the best he could offer. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it would have to suffice. 

“Thank you, sir.”

Your voice was meek and hollow, like everything was an automatic response. He hated hearing the ‘sir’ at the end, knowing now why you were so persistent with it. You didn’t want to be rude and risk him hurting you for it, risk making another ‘mistake’ and earn another punishment like the one they dealt out in the laundry room. He understood now just how completely broken you really were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More from Bucky's pov in the next chapter! :)


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's time to feel like shit... And also come somewhat to the rescue...
> 
> And dr. Strange makes an appearance! 
> 
> Thank you Pumpkin_Empanada for the suggestion! :*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Hospital things, physical, mental and emotional pain.

Steve had left you by the intake, standing by the reception counter to await whichever officers would take you to the hospital. He had gone to check who would be best suited, and make sure the ground was covered even in their absence. He had talked about getting someone up from Max to cover for them, but you weren’t really invested in his thought process. 

Focusing on how the officers would manage to do it all was still a better train of thought than trying to figure out why Steve had acted the way he had. Fragments of those thoughts still managed to penetrate the track and appear here and there, but you fought hard to pay them no mind. You needed to save what little energy you had, and not go around in circles trying to predict the officers’ next move. Whatever happened, happened, simple as that, you know that. Don’t fight them, don’t question them, don’t do anything they hadn’t told you to do. That was the best game plan, and you knew that. 

Steve found Bucky standing in corridor A, overseeing things. The hallway was quite calm, there were just a few inmates passing by. Bucky perked up when he saw his friend approaching, and was itching to know what had happened down at medical. 

“Hey,” Bucky said when Steve came close, who raised his head in an acknowledging nod. “How’d it go?” 

Steve planted himself next to Bucky and held his elbows in his hands, sighing as he did. He looked around, keeping an eye out for any eavesdroppers. This was a prison after all. 

“She’s got a broken wrist and she needs to go to the hospital to get it fixed.” 

Bucky looked dumbfounded at Steve. Never had he thought it would be something as serious as a break. He knew they must have both left bruises on you, but breaking your wrist had never been part of the plan. They never meant to hurt you that seriously. Though, the sexual trauma was probably the worst of it when he thought about it. 

“What?” he said, baffled. “Are you serious?”  


Steve nodded and sighed again, fighting the guilt building up inside him. It didn’t seem to stop coming. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Banner said she needs to go as soon as possible or she might have permanent damage, seeing she’s been walking around with it for several days already.”

Bucky clenched his jaw and fought back the whirlwind of self-hatred that started rushing through him. He didn’t think it was that bad. But they had broken your wrist, tasered you, teared up your vagina and then left you to your own demise for days, after everything you had been through already, so how could he not hate himself? He had every right to do so. 

He took a deep breath and released it in a loud huff. 

“Okay,” he said. “When are you taking her?” 

“I’m not,” Steve said. “Caputo asked me to cover for him as captain so I need to stay here on site. I thought maybe you and Fisher could take her?”

Bucky knew he had to take the bull by the horns and meet reality head on. He couldn’t hide away and not look at the damage done, especially not when he had an opportunity to be helpful in some way, even if it was simply escorting you to the hospital. If he hid from this, he would never be able to face himself again. 

“Sure,” he said through a sigh. “That’s only fair right?” 

It was more of a rhetorical question, and Steve didn’t want to project his own emotions onto Bucky, but if he had the opportunity to go, he would. At least if they were there, they could make sure no one else messed with you, they could look out for you. And Fisher was kindness personified, so it was the best bet to make sure you were cared for properly. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, looking knowingly at Bucky. “It’s better to have you there to look out for her.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. 

Steve had done his part and kept an eye out for you down in medical, now it was his turn to do the same. Bucky knew Fisher would never treat you badly, especially not after seeing what you had already gone through, but she didn’t know the true damage that lay underneath the cover of your clothes, and might end up doing harm to you. Plus, she wasn’t exactly the posterchild for authority, and someone might try to step on her to get you alone, and render you without protection. At least that wouldn’t happen if Bucky was there.

“Great,” Steve said. “Jess is waiting by the intake. I’ll go get Fisher and send her your way while you guys get to the van.”

“Sounds good,” Bucky said with a nod. 

“And, uh...” Steve started, looking around to make sure no one was paying attention before leaning in closer. “Take it easy on her. I think she’s more hurt than we initially thought, so... slow steps, you know?”

Bucky understood immediately, and felt shame pool in his stomach. He’d thought as much before too, but now Steve was confirming that suspicion. They had teared you up, ripped you from the inside, and then had the audacity to feel good and proud about it. At least at first, when they could still pretend and force any other feeling way down deep. But they hadn’t done the right thing, they hadn’t rectified anything and they hadn’t taught you a lesson. They had raped you. They had hurt you, then watched you pick up the pieces and carry on. 

Bucky looked over at Steve, clenching his jaw to keep his anger and shame down. He wanted to punch himself out and not have to live with this for a second longer. 

“Did he do a check?” he asked in a hushed voice. “Banner?”

Steve shook his head. 

“No. She said she fell down the stairs, which he didn’t believe of course, and wanted to check her for other injuries as well, but... she didn’t let show that anything like _that_ was bothering her, so... He thinks it was another inmate that did it, asked if there had been a fight recently.” 

Bucky nodded, not knowing whether to be relieved at the fact, or just feel even worse for you not getting the medical help that you clearly needed. If they had managed to do such damage as break a bone, what else were you hiding?

He looked around quickly before meeting Steve’s concerned eyes. 

“Think she’s hiding something else like that? Like her wrist?” 

Steve shrugged and looked up at the ceiling, noting the clear need for cleaning it. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t even know how or when we broke her wrist, or which one of us did it, but she’s in clear pain. And what’s worse, she hasn’t taken anything for the pain.”

Bucky furrowed his brows when hearing it. 

“What? Nothing?”

“No,” Steve said. “Banner asked and she said she wasn’t sure if her commissary had come in yet.” 

Steve gave Bucky a glare which told his own thoughts on the matter, which Bucky agreed with. You weren’t worried about whether or not you had money, you weren’t sure if you were allowed to buy anything. Or what it might cost you, besides cash. 

“Fuuck,” Bucky groaned lowly, mentally hitting himself over and over. 

How much worse could it get? It seemed to be piling on by the minute, and he hated himself for feeling bad, when it was nothing compared to how you must be feeling. He had nothing to complain about when you were walking around with a broken wrist, a torn-up vagina and multiple bruises. And that was just the physical part. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what your mental state was like. 

He drew a deep breath and sighed loudly before speaking. 

“Well... Go get Fisher and we’ll take her to the hospital right away. Maybe that will fix something at least.” 

You were still standing obediently where Steve had told you to stay and wait. Your wrist was throbbing even from its confinement, but the pain was steadily easing up as the morphine kicked in. It was still kept safely close, either your chest or abdomen, just in case someone might bump into it. Or grab it. Or twist it.

You heard the firm and steady footsteps of an approaching officer coming from slightly behind you. You knew who it was, or at least knew it was one of the two. It wasn’t surprising that they didn’t trust you enough to let some of the other guards take you, but wanted to go themselves to make sure you kept your mouth shut. Not that you were going to say anything, no matter which guards took you. But you knew you would be pressured again once you got to the hospital, and having one of the men who assaulted you standing in the room, probably not far from you, would really put that last nail in the coffin of staying silent on the matter. 

Bucky saw you standing at the end of the hallway like a statue, not moving a muscle. There wasn’t even an indication of having heard him approach, not even a slight turn of your head. Just the slow rise of your chest, your breathing shallow but unhurried. Your head was kept down, either looking at the lower part of a wall or maybe even the floor, and no changes were made even as he drew near enough to be seen in your peripheral. 

Should he say something? ‘Un-officer-like’? Or was it best to let things seem as they were? But that meant that you would still see him as a scary monster, someone who would hurt you again most likely. Someone to be scared of. To fear. And he didn’t want that. He hated knowing that you saw both him as Steve as such. That they had become what a woman would fear. And a woman like you no less, who had been through enough already.

“Hey, uh...” he started when he came close enough. 

He didn’t want to put you in a position where you were forced to speak to him, so he kept things simple and straight forward. He cleared his throat and tried again. 

“I’ll be escorting you to the hospital along with CO Fisher. Steve is getting her now.” 

There was no use in being formal and calling him officer Rogers when you were all way past a first name basis. Bucky even remembered you trying to reason with Steve that night by using his name, something he had chided you for. 

“Thank you, sir,” you said, and he felt a pang of pain when hearing how hollow your voice was. 

He wanted to beg your forgiveness, to apologize and just start making things better, but he couldn’t. This was not the time, nor the place for that sort of thing. Just like Steve, he had to settle for the relief of just making sure you were safe, and got the help you needed. But you didn’t have to be so polite about it.

“No need to thank me,” he said instead. “Just doing my job.”

Of course he was. He wasn’t doing this out of kindness or care for your state. He was simply doing what was required of him. It was a part of his job to escort inmates whenever they left the grounds, to make sure nothing happened while they were away, even if that meant taking the person he wanted to see hurt to get help. Maybe he had volunteered to go with you even. To make sure you didn’t cry for help and tell it all to the hospital staff and see to it that an investigation was started. You bore the truth after all. All they would need to do was take a look at your body and questions would arise. Or maybe he wanted to be there for the pain. Nurse Banner had mentioned that resetting your wrist would be painful, so maybe officer Barnes just wanted a front row seat. 

The officer raised an uncertain hand to your upper arm, picking the uninjured one thankfully, and slowly took a step to start heading for the door. You followed along, matching his steps. Why he was walking slower than his normal you couldn’t understand, but you were thanking whichever god for that kindness. 

During the walk to the van, which was quite some distance over the grounds, the officer looked down on you more often than not. You weren’t sure what he was looking for, but his eyes jumped from your face, well, more your head since you didn’t look up, down to your arm where it rested in the splint. His hand kept its hold on you, but his grip was light and more reassuring than forceful. Though you still wished to evade it, but you knew it didn’t matter what you wanted. Silent prayers and wishes did nothing more than disappoint. 

Bucky kept his pace slow but not too sluggish, not wanting anyone to catch wind of something more being up than ‘just’ a broken limb, which was enough to warrant careful stepping in his book. Your steps were a bit hobbling at times, most likely pain erupting in your lower parts after their unfair and harsh treatment of you, and it made Bucky want to hurl whenever he saw it. He didn’t know it was possible to hate oneself this much, but he sure was doing it. 

The van was closing in with each staggering step, and CO Fisher was nowhere to be found yet. That meant that you would be alone with Bucky until she got there. Would he take advantage? Steve hadn’t. Maybe they didn’t want to do anything when there were people around. You looked around you, and only found a few trailing inmates heading in, but other than that, it was vacant. Should you be worried? 

You came up to the van, and Bucky reached for the door handle to slide the door open, revealing the backseat which was separated from the front by a grating. He took a step back to allow you to step in. You swallowed the lump that had started to form in your throat, still afraid that the officer would do something to you. You were starting to come out of your haze now that the pain was subsiding, and you didn’t care for it much. Being apathetic wasn’t as mentally tough as this. 

You put one foot on the step to get into the van, and you could feel Bucky help you up. His grip tightened as he did so, and you didn’t know whether to stop and stand still or just sit down. Was he trying to stop you, or just help you? But why would he help you though? 

“You okay?” he asked, almost with a worry to his voice which was set softer than you had ever heard him speak. 

You sat down in the middle of the wide seat, ready to scoot over. Pain blossomed in you lower parts, and you fought to hold back the whimpers. You couldn’t hide the grimaces, but at least you didn’t start moaning and whining. 

“Yes, sir,” you said, keeping your tone low but audible enough as to not upset him. “Thank you.” 

Always be grateful for any kindness shown, no matter the reason. One of the rules, and an important one at that. He didn’t have to be nice to you, so if he was, you better be grateful and thank him for it. It was best to stay humble and know your place. And that place was beneath his boot to do with as he pleased. 

Bucky stayed outside the van, not wanting to crowd you unless he had to. The ride to the hospital would be more than enough of that, so he gave you the distance he could. He varied between looking at you where you sat, unmoving and docile, and checking the doors to see when Fisher would get here. Either she was slacking and not hurrying at all, or he was just uncomfortable. Either way, time was not moving very quick. 

He looked down at the ground, before finding his voice when meeting your profile. 

“The painkillers kicked in yet?”

Would he be disappointed by the answer?

“Yes, sir.” 

Bucky nodded, his mouth turning into a tight smile, his lips almost just a thin line.

“Good,” he said and nodded. “That’s good.” 

His voice was friendly, his tone kept light. He seemed genuinely pleased by the fact that your pain was lessening, which seemed strange seeing he was the one who put you in that position in the first place. 

He didn’t know what else to say. What could he say? ‘Hey, by the way, I’m really sorry for raping you, I hope you can forgive me.’ Yeah, that’s great, Barnes, real clever. Do that, and end up in lockup along with Steve and have no one looking out for you, or make sure that nothing else happened to you. No, it was better to keep quiet for now. 

Officer Fisher came darting towards the van, her steps hurried, knowing both you and Bucky were waiting for her. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, and jingled the keys in her hand. “I couldn’t find the right keys to the van.” 

She looked a bit embarrassed by the fact, but she had only worked at the prison for a few weeks, and had never been on a ride along before. 

“That’s alright,” Bucky said kindly, acting like he wasn’t relieved to see her. “No harm done.”

Fisher smiled and gave you a concerned look where you sat in the backseat, not facing the officers, just looking straight onto the grating. Worry spread across her face, and she hurried over to the driver’s side to get the show on the road. 

Bucky took a deep breath to steady himself, and jumped in to sit beside you, blocking the door as he should. He noticed your subtle flinch when he went to sit, and you scooted away to keep some distance, but not too much. You weren’t blatantly pressing yourself to the far side of the van, even though you probably wanted to, but you kept your body turned to protect yourself. He could understand why. Just sitting down must be a constant reminder of what he had done to you, and what he was capable of doing again. 

He leaned back in his seat, getting comfortable enough to endure the ride to the hospital. Questions and worries were swimming in his mind, making his heart beat faster and his breathing laboured from time to time. He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to succumb to it all and drown in his shame and woe. So, he counted road signs the entire way. 

48.

Fisher turned the van into the drop-off zone, and pulled the car to a stop. 

“Okay,” she said with an upbeat tone. “You guys go ahead and I’ll find you later.” 

She had to park the car in the garage first, which meant that officer Barnes was the one to take you in and get you settled. You felt your heart start to beat a little faster, a little harder. He had been kind before, but there was no telling of what he might do if he got the opportunity.

Bucky reached for the handle and slid the door open and stepped out. He assessed the surroundings, finding only a few people entering and exiting through the double doors leading to the reception. He turned to face you. 

He noticed a slight quiver to your jaw. He wasn’t sure if it was from fear or just tension, but he didn’t like that it only appeared once he looked at you. He reminded himself to keep his expression relaxed, and not let his inner turmoil read true. There was a more than slight risk that you might misinterpret it. 

He cleared his throat to get your attention without ordering it, and stepped back a beat to allow you more room to get out. 

You gathered what he was getting at, without speaking the words, but you knew better than to move without being told to. Would he be mad if you didn’t step out right away, or would he be mad if you stepped out without him telling you to? You were used to it being the latter, so you waited. Both officers shared a look, before both looking back to you. 

“You’ll be fine,” CO Fisher said kindly, thinking you were fearful of the treatment or the doctor, and not her fellow officer. “They’re gonna fix you right up. We’ll be outta here in no time.” 

You looked up at her face through the grating, finding her smiling softly at you, trying to reassure you of her words. But it wasn’t her voice you were waiting to hear. You needed it to be Bucky who told you it was okay to step out, or you might be punished for disrespecting him. Gratefully, he agreed with Fisher. 

“Yeah,” he said, also keeping his voice light and not as tense as he felt. “I’m sure they’ve done this plenty of times before, you have nothing to worry about. Now, come on.”

He wasn’t ordering you like he usually did, but maybe he was just keeping things light when CO Fisher was around. Either way, he had told you to get out so you did. 

Once again, you felt the burn between your legs flare up, and you couldn’t help but whimper slightly when stepping out onto the concrete. Bucky noticed and you could almost swear you saw his face contort in worry, but you wrote that off pretty quickly. He reached behind you to grab the door handle, and you heard the loud click of the door as it slid back into place. He banged the side of it twice, letting his colleague know it was alright to drive off. 

His chest nudged your shoulder as he did so, and you couldn’t help but flinch back to separate yourself from him. He noticed and froze. Oh, no. That’s not good. You swallowed down the lump in your throat and turned slightly to face him better, but, of course, not meeting his eyes. 

“Sorry, sir,” you said meekly, and reached both of your hands forward, palms upward. 

It was protocol to always keep inmates in handcuffs during visits outside of camp. The splint was thin enough so the cuffs would fit around it, though it would probably be painful. But that didn’t matter. He had every right to do what he pleased.

Bucky looked down at your banged-up wrist, getting an eyeful of the bad bruising and swelling peeking out, feeling his stomach twist at the sight. He looked up. He would have met your eyes if you ever raised them, but instead he met your forehead, seeing your eyelashes graze your cheeks whenever you blinked. You looked so small, standing there all scared and submissive, ready to follow any order he gave. If they only backed up a few hours, he would force the feeling of guilt down and replace it with contentment and pride, but he couldn’t do that anymore. This was now. 

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, his voice low, and carrying something deeper. 

Your gaze shot up for just a split second, finding him looking tenderly down at you with a saddened smile on his lips. Your brows knitted together for just a moment, not knowing what to make of it. You couldn’t help but feel at unease with not knowing what the officer’s intentions were. Was he not playing by the same rules as Nate? Had you missed something? Did you mess up? 

“Th-thank you, sir,” you added, feeling it was the safest bet to not be reprimanded. 

Bucky quirked the corners of his mouth up for just a second or two, and grabbed a hold of your arm, with your hands still free. His grip wasn’t hard, but it was still firm enough to let you know you wouldn’t get away should you try. You were in public now, and he needed to show his assertion. 

He walked you through the doors and up to the reception counter. You couldn’t help but look around, noticing how everyone in the room was staring at you, and whispering amongst themselves. The fact that a man in an officer’s uniform was holding on to you didn’t exactly ease everyone’s fears. You weren’t sure if Bucky’s stature and physic was making them feel safer, or even more fearful of you. Either way, you were the main attraction, and everyone looked on as Bucky talked with the receptionist. 

“Officer Barnes accompanying inmate Jessabelle Harper from Litchfield penitentiary to get her arm fixed. A Bruce Banner has called ahead to let you know we were coming.” 

The lady behind the counter looked between you and the officer, once she could tear her eyes away from him. Her brown eyes looked like melted puddles of chocolate whenever she faced him, his smile charming and easy. She fumbled with some papers behind the glass keeping her separated from all the clients and patients, eventually finding what she was looking for. 

“Of course, officer. Oh, uh...” she mumbled, rustling away. “Ah, here it is. Yes, doctor Strange will be taking care of, uhm... inmate... Harper today,” she said with a nervous titter.

You could tell she was debating whether to call you ‘miss’ or ‘inmate’, but of course chose to go with whatever the very handsome officer had called you, eyeing him like he was a piece of pie. 

The receptionist stood up and leaned forward to point in a certain direction, and her cleavage just happened to be even more prominent as she did. Though, Bucky was a perfect gentleman, and didn’t look down once, despite her clear invitation to do so. 

“Just go through there and take a right, then it’s the third door on your left. Would you like me to show you?” 

Oh, you could tell she really wanted him to say yes to her proposition, but he politely declined. 

“That won’t be necessary, ma’am,” he said, his voice firm again, like it usually was. “I got it. Take a right, then the third door on the left. Thank you.” 

Bucky turned you towards the door to which the receptionist had pointed, and started walking. Again, slower than usually, much to your gratitude. He didn’t seem to be too bothered about everyone staring, he just kept on walking strong. But slow. 

Bucky knocked on the door once you got there, but there was no answer. The sign read Dr. Stephen Strange, so it was the right room. He turned the doorknob and peeked his head in, but the room was empty. He debated whether to wait out in the waiting area, but that would just put you under scrutiny, and he didn’t want to put you through that. Plus, the receptionist had told him to go to this very room, so he decided to step inside. 

“Guess we’ll wait in here,” he said, and closed the door behind you. 

He released his grip on you, and went to stand next to the door. He planted his feet wide apart, and crossed his arms over his chest. You didn’t move. You stood rooted to the ground where he had left you just a few feet inside, only looking around the room as much as you could without raising your eyes too much. 

It looked pretty much the same as the exam room at the prison, only this one was stacked from floor to ceiling with books and models of different body parts, the walls papered with anatomy posters and charts. It was bigger than the one at the prison. The desk was bigger, the computer screens, yes plural, were bigger. Overall, it was just a larger exam room. 

Bucky watched you looking around, peeking up every now and again to look at a poster or chart, only to lower your eyes again. It was torture to see you like this, and he hated himself for feeling like that. He hated that he made it all about his own emotions and not yours, even though your distress was the reason for his shameful feelings. He felt like a helpless bystander who didn’t dare to step in, and that was a far cry from who he was, who he had always been. He was the one doing the saving, not the hurting. But things had drastically changed, cause here you were.

Since you were still standing where he had left you, he gathered that you wouldn’t move unless he told you to. 

“You could take a seat if you want?” he said, and nodded to the cot where the doctor would most likely ask you to sit once he arrived. 

You flinched when hearing the officer’s voice, and turned your head to see him better in your perirhinal, then looking to the bed. You started shuffling over. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

Hearing a ‘sir’ after everything you said, didn’t make Bucky feel very good or noble, especially in a moment which he didn’t deserve any thanks to begin with. It didn’t make him feel like he was a trusted authority figure, or someone worthy of honouring in such respectful ways. It made him feel feared. And he really hated that. He had always been someone people could rely on, or come to for help. But you just wanted to run the other way, but didn’t have the courage to do so. 

As you went to sit, you winced and your brows knitted for just a second, as pain flared through your core. It still hurt to sit down, especially when you had to lift up to do so. Your vulva was bruised and burning, and complained loudly at anything pressing at it. You swallowed down the whimpers that wanted to fly free and ease some of the strain, not wanting to upset the officer. 

Bucky felt his stomach twist again when he noticed. He took a step closer, but kept his distance, not wanting to scare you. He understood that in your eyes he was a monster (in his own eyes that was becoming very clear too) and that you might not want to be near him more than you had to, but he had to offer. 

“You okay?” he asked, reaching out a hand as if to comfort you from a far. 

He felt the stupidity of the question. You had been raped, beaten and everything in between, and he had the audacity to ask if you were okay... But once again, you gave the answer you thought he wanted to hear. 

“Fine, sir. Thank you.” 

You weren’t sure if the officers were fishing for something else besides ‘fine’. Maybe they wanted to hear that you were indeed hurting. That you weren’t fine. That sitting down felt like sitting on charcoal because of them forcing their way into your body. But Nate never liked hearing it. Once it was done with, he didn’t want you bitching about it, or bringing it up when it wasn’t asked for. So, you kept on with the façade of it being okay, even though it was becoming evident that it wasn’t. 

There was a loud knock at the door, just two knocks, then it was opened to reveal a tall man with a long face. His hair was dark, and he had a slight stubble on his chin and cheeks. He was wearing a white coat so... by default, dr. Strange. 

“Oh, good,” he said, and walked in with a folder under his arm. “You’re here,” 

He closed the door behind him and turned to face the officer. He held out his hand to Bucky, who took it in a firm grip and shook it. 

“I’m doctor Strange. I’ll be taking care of inmate Harper today.” 

“Officer Barnes. Good to meet you. My colleague will be with us shortly.” 

“Ah, yes, good.”

The men ended their handshake with a cordial smile, then turned their attention on you. 

“Is it all right to go ahead with just you here?” the doctor asked the officer, looking over his shoulder to do so as he turned to his desk.

You knew it wasn’t personal. It was probably protocol, like it was for the prison to have two guards go with one inmate. The doctor probably wanted to make sure that he was safe to do his examination and get you sorted, without having to worry about getting in harm’s way. 

“Of course,” Bucky said with a smile, then directing it towards you apologetically. 

The doctor threw the folder on his desk, where it landed with a loud slap. He grabbed the swivel stool and dragged it over to where you were, sitting himself down in front of you, looking up. 

“Hi,” he said with a big smile, slapping his hands on his knees. “Doctor Strange as you may have heard. Strange name, I know, but it is what it is.” 

You looked up to meet the doctor’s eyes for a moment. 

“Jess Harper,” you said lowly. 

The doctor nodded, and pointed towards your hand. 

“A Colle’s fracture, was it?”

He took your hand in a gentle grip to look it over, still in the splint. 

“Yes, sir,” you said, remembering the kind nurse back at camp calling it that. 

“Hmm,” he said, twisting and turning your hand and wrist to look it over. 

Bucky felt a tightening in his jaw when he noted your pained expression as the doctor went on with his exam. He didn’t like to see you in pain, nor did he like that the doctor was touching you around the area which must be the most painful. At least at the moment. 

There was a knock at the door before it was opened, revealing officer Fisher. She smiled and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. 

“Hi,” she said, when the doctor looked up. 

“Hi,” he said back. “I’m doctor Strange.” 

“Susan Fisher,” she said with a wide smile. 

She met Bucky’s eyes for a moment, who returned her smile where he stood with his arms crossed over his chest and balled fists hidden, then walked past him to stand on the other side of the room. They could both oversee the exam from each side, there to cover and help the doctor should the inmate try anything. Though, both Bucky and Susan knew you weren’t the type. 

“Well,” Strange said and scooted back a step. “It’s pretty straight forward. I have the x-ray that nurse Banner took still at the prison, so I won’t need to take anymore. I can set your bones straight as it is.” You could see his discomfort at the mentioning of prison, as if he remembered that you were in fact an inmate. “But... there was a note made by the nurse, that he wasn’t convinced that you weren’t in fact hurting somewhere else, and wanted me do to a complete examination of you.” 

And there it was again. You had managed to dodge it before, and could do so again. And yet again, you had one of the officers responsible for your pain in the room with you, and he was most likely as set as you were that there wasn’t going to be any examination taking place. 

“That won’t be necessary, sir. I’m fine. I just hurt my wrist.”

You dared a peek up at the man in front of you, trying to portray some sort of assertion. But he just drew his lips into a thin line and nodded once. 

“I hear you. But if there is a doubt of your safety, I am required and obligated to see to it that you get the help you need. Will you allow me to do the check?”

“No.” 

There was no added ‘sir’ to that statement. You made it clear that you will not let this man take a look at your body, and see the damage done. Not the fresh bruises left by the officers, and definetly not the horrid scars left by Nate. The officers hadn’t seen it, no one had seen the whole thing, only glimpses, and you were set on keeping it that way. And you were more afraid of what the officers might do to you should you show anyone, than any pain or damage inflicted by not having what already infested your body, looked after properly. 

Doctor Strange sighed, and turned his head towards Bucky. 

“Officer Barnes,” he started. “The inmate might be severally hurt. If she does not allow me to do the check and treat whatever might be ailing her, she could be in severe danger of a number of things. I need to check her. Could you please assist me?” 

Your eyes shot up at the officer. He wasn’t going to do that, was he? He knew what you were trying to keep hidden, what you were trying to protect. Surely, he wouldn’t want to risk his own by forcing you do to a medical examination?

Bucky met your worried eyes for the first time in a long time. He had almost forgotten the softness mixed with the fear that always seemed to be swimming in your deep blue. He was surprised when he realized that you were both trying to protect different things hidden beneath your clothes. You were worried about what he might do should anyone know of the damage he had Steve had done. And he was mostly worried about keeping your scars hidden, and not put you through the embarrassment of having them shown. You obviously weren’t comfortable with anyone seeing them, and he would do whatever he could to keep you from feeling even more hurt and betrayed than you already did. 

He looked to the doctor, who looked back at him with an almost annoyed expression on his face, agitated by you not cooperating with him. 

“I’m sorry, doc. The inmate still has rights. If she doesn’t want the check done, it’s not gonna get done.” 

You visibly relaxed when hearing Bucky’s words, and his face was like set in stone when he looked at the doctor. He had your side, not his. You breathed in deeply and gave the officer a minor nod as a ‘thank you’, and he returned it with a small and short smile. 

The doctor sighed again, feeling that he was defeated. 

“May I have a moment with you officer?” he asked and rose to his feet. 

Worry pooled in your stomach when Bucky nodded and the two of them stepped out the door. CO Fisher, who had been standing silently and idly by, took the opportunity to speak to you in private. 

“I know it can be scary to be at a doctor’s office, but he is only trying to help you.” 

Her voice was soft and apologetic. You felt like she was trying to convince a child of getting flue-shot, and refusing without getting a popsicle for it. That was not the situation. 

“I know, ma’am,” you said, and finally looked up to meet her concerned face. “But I don’t want him to check for any more injuries. Cause there aren’t any.” And that was that. 

Outside the door, dr. Strange spoke lowly to Bucky, not wanting you to hear anything trough the door. Bucky stood his ground and didn’t crumple even when the equally tall doctor tried to change his stance to intimidate him. This is exactly why Fisher didn’t go alone with you. 

“If she does not get checked, we could miss something vital. It is imperative that I check her over for any more injuries.”

“If she doesn’t want the examination done, there is nothing I can do.” 

Strange rubbed his forehead and took a deep breath. 

“Officer, your nurse noted that he did not believe her to be fine and wanted me to do the full examination. I agree with nurse Banner. I don’t think that this happened through a fall down any stairs. This was done to her, by someone else.”

Bucky raised his brows at him, not minding the irritation of the other man’s voice. 

“With all due respect, doc, but whether or not she fell down the stairs has nothing to do with it. She is under no obligation to report any misconduct by another inmate, I don’t care who she’s trying to protect. Neither you, nor me, can force her to have the check done. But her wrist is broken and hurting, so maybe you could just go ahead and fix that? Unless you’d rather stand out here arguing with me whether or not I am gonna hold an inmate down while you check her over for any more, _potential_ , injuries?” 

The doctor clearly had his ego bruised by Bucky’s words. When he asked to see the officer in private, it was to get his way and have him listen, not the other way around. It was clear the officer had no intentions of arguing any further, so Strange just kept his mouth shut and nodded his head, once. 

“Okay,” he said, defeated, and opened the door behind his back, and stepped back inside. 

When Bucky appeared behind the doctor as they both stepped through, he gave you a soft glance to let you know he had taken care of the situation. Again, he was still worried underneath, that you did in fact have more injuries which needed to be treated. But you yourself had declined the doctor’s offer, and who was he to argue with that?

CO Fisher lit up when the men returned to the room, after it having been silent since you shut her down. She wasn’t very comfortable with silence, not when she didn’t know what to make of it, so she was grateful to have them back, and filling up the room. 

“Right,” doctor Strange said, and went to his desk to open the file he had brought with him. “Let’s get that wrist set back into place and put into a cast, and you’ll be free to go.” 

He caught himself one second too late. A blush rose up his cheeks when he realized his poor choice of words. The officers both just gave him a look which said ‘yep, you fucked up’, but left it at that. You on the other hand, didn’t seem to have taken any offence. 

“Sorry,” he said and cleared his throat. “Now, I’m gonna give you a mild sedative and some morphine, that should be enough to handle the pain of resetting the bone. That sound alright to you, miss Harper?”

You nodded your head when he looked up. 

“Yes, sir.” 

But Bucky didn’t quite agree. 

“She’s not gonna be awake during the procedure, is she?”

Doctor Strange looked up and met the scowl on the officer’s face. 

“The break is clean enough for me to simply force it back into position if she’s relaxed enough. The sedative and painkillers should be enough for that.”

“Should?” Bucky argued. “She has been walking around with a broken wrist for several days already, without anything to numb the pain, and now you’re gonna reset her bones while she’s still awake?” 

CO Fisher looked on as the tension grew, looking between her colleague, the doctor and you, who seemed to be surprised by Bucky’s argument. 

“If she says it’s fine, then it’s fine,” Strange countered, staring back. “It’s up to her, is it not, officer?” 

That got Bucky’s blood boiling. The doctor was trying to throw his own words back at him, and he was not having it. It was both of their jobs to protect you and help you, and if the good doctor didn’t want to do his part, then so be it. 

“You haven’t given her an option, doc,” Bucky said firmly. “Perhaps if you did, she might reconsider.” 

You waited, tensions running high. You didn’t want to interrupt them, it was best to just wait. Apparently, officer Fisher shared your thought, since she still hadn’t spoke up. She seemed to be on Bucky’s side though, throwing a few vile glances at the doctor, and grateful ones at Bucky for speaking up. 

“Alright,” Strange said, a strain in his voice. “It can also be done under anaesthesia, but that requires you to be fasting for 24 hours before. That means no food or water whatsoever. Or I can reset it, like I said, with a sedative and morphine to help you relax. It shouldn’t take long to get it fixed. And if you have been walking around with the break for several days already, like the officer said–” he didn’t sound too pleased to be referring to the officer’s words. “–the pain of resetting the bone should be a walk in the park for you. And just as quick.” 

Wow, how tempting it all sounded... You thought both options over. If you wanted the anaesthesia, that meant you had to come back again, which you really weren’t keen on. Plus, the doctor seemed very insistent of examining you, and you didn’t fully trust that he wouldn’t take advantage of the situation when you weren’t conscious to oppose, your trust for men was low as it was. Maybe resetting it right away was the best option? It would be done now, you would be somewhat under, then you would be out of there. You had already borne the pain of having your wrist be broken, then be raped by two officers, to then walking around with it for days. And that was without any sedative, no matter how mild. 

“I don’t need any anaesthesia,” you said, your voice surprisingly strong and stable, at least in comparison to a few hours ago. “I’d like it done today, please.” 

Bucky wanted so bad to roll his eyes at himself. Of course, you went with that. What did he expect? You weren’t the one to be of inconvenience, and you were smart enough to know that you wouldn’t be staying at the hospital until you could go through with the procedure under anaesthesia. And you were so used to pain by now, you didn’t even have to think for long before opting for the quickest solution. 

CO Fisher finally spoke up. 

“You do realize it’s gonna be painful, right?” 

She ignored the low sigh of the doctor, who in truth was beginning to feel fed up with the officers trying to convince you to wait. But you just nodded. You didn’t even look up at her. So, she left it at that. You had made your decision. 

Bucky and her shared a look of concern, both feeling like you were making a mistake, that you just wanted to be out of here as quick as possible, and didn’t think of the pain involved. But Bucky was really coming to understand of just how used to pain you were.

“Great,” dr. Strange said. “I’ll go get things ready.” 

With that, he left the room, and the officers could finally speak plainly. 

“What an asshole,” Bucky said, not giving two fucks if the doctor could hear him through the door or not. 

Fisher snickered, covering her mouth with her hand to keep from outright laughing. But you didn’t. You didn’t agree, you didn’t disagree. It wasn’t your place to have an opinion on anyone, and the officers were clearly talking amongst themselves. So, you stayed quiet and just waited for the doctor to come back. During the time, the officers were comparing dr. Strange to other people they also thought to be a bad fit for their job, and you were somewhat relieved to not have them directing anything at you. 

The doctor came back in with all the supplies he would need for the whole procedure. He was quick to get a vein catheter in, and get you pumping with morphine before adding the sedative. He asked you to lay back and give in to the feeling of drowsiness. You did as he asked, the pain in the rest of your body lessening thanks to the added morphine, so it didn’t hurt as much to move. You welcomed the feeling, and completely succumbed to it. 

Bucky had to strain to keep where he was, and not come to your side to watch the whole ordeal and make sure you were okay. He wanted so bad to just make the pain go away, to erase the past and save you before any of it happened. And watching your face contort in pain and nerves wasn’t helping. 

The doctor was quick to push the bone back where it belonged, twisting your wrist over as he did to make sure it stayed put. It didn’t hurt as much as the breaking of it had, but it was still up there. You couldn’t help the tiny whimpers from falling during the whole ordeal, and your breaths came out in puffs of air. 

CO Fisher had turned to her side during it all, being quite squeamish when it came to things like that. She didn’t fully turn her back, seeing she had to keep watch of everything, but she allowed herself to at least turn away. Especially since her fellow officer kept tabs on absolutely everything going on, not taking his eyes off you if he could help it. He twitched where he stood, clenching then unclenching his fists hidden underneath his biceps, as the doctor worked. 

Dr. Strange did an x-ray with a similar portable machine as the one down in medical at the prison, to make sure the bones were all aligned, before he put a cast on. The cast was surprisingly thin, which Strange explained was for comfort, and proven just as stable as a thicker one, at least when it came to these types of fractures. It would allow you more movement and use of your fingers, which in turn would help speed up the recovery after the cast was to be taken off. You would still have to keep taking painkillers everyday to help keep the pain at bay, but he assured you that the pain would subside quite quick now that the bone was set straight again. 

“And there we are,” the doctor said. “All done.”

Bucky took a deep breath and sighed in relief of it all being over and done with. Your pain should be lessened, and you would recover from the break within a few weeks. He was over the moon about knowing that you would be alright. Though, the worries and questions about the rest of you still lingered in his mind. What else ailed you? What else could the doctor potentially help you with, if only you let him? Guilt and shame built back up again, bricks upon bricks. The self-hatred was difficult to push back. All it took was one look at your submissive, weak and hurt state, and everything came flooding back. Sure, the doctor had fixed your wrist, but that didn’t change the fact that Bucky was still a monster who had raped you. Nothing could change that. And he had to live with that fact for the rest of his life. 

The doctor started putting everything away, and gave you something to reverse the sedative and wake you up again. You weren’t all the way asleep, but you were close to it, and very much relaxed. 

“It’s gonna take a while before the antidote kicks in,” Strange said, still messing about with everything. “She’ll be good to go whenever you wish.” 

“Thank you, doctor,” Fisher said with a smile. 

Bucky just nodded with a tight smile on his lips, but didn’t say anything. The doctor returned the favour, and headed for the door. 

“We’ll send the bill to the prison, so you can just see yourselves out when you’re ready.” 

With that, he left, shutting the door behind him. 

Bucky took a step closer to where you lay on the bed, not caring about what Fisher thought about it. You looked so peaceful, yet still with a worry-line between your brows. Your breathing had calmed, your eyes were still closed and your head turned heavily to the side. 

“Jess?” he tried with a low tone laced with worry. 

He was met with a twitch of your brows and a low moan. 

“...ugh...” 

It brought back the horrid memories of that night, when all you could do was scream and cry behind a makeshift gag. It sounded just like it, just as helpless. He didn’t want to think about that right now, he wanted to get you back to camp, and get you back to bed to sleep it all off. He looked over at Fisher, who was still standing far back, her hands rubbing up and down her arms in a calming matter, looking somewhat uneasy. 

“Should we wait?” she asked, and looked to the door, then back at Bucky. 

He sighed, and looked down at your drowsy figure, still not showing any signs of wanting to come back to the land of the living. He didn’t want you to have to stay here any longer than you had to, not with that doctor running around. He could admit to himself why he was so irked by the doctor, and it wasn’t really the doctor’s fault at all... Not just. 

“I think she’s be better off sleeping it off in her own bed,” he said. “Don’t you think?”

Susan nodded, and gave him a tight smile. 

“Sure.” 

She could see the worry written on Bucky’s face, and she knew what he was getting at. They had both seen the footage, both felt horrible about it and didn’t want you to feel any pain or fear anymore. She didn’t know the true feelings of guilt of course, but she could see he was feeling bad for you. 

“Should I go get a wheelchair?” she offered, and stepped towards the door.

“No, that’s alright,” Bucky said. “I got her.”

He snaked one arm under your knees, and one under your arms, making sure to get one over his shoulder to help support you, and lifted you up. 

“...ugh...” you groaned, and involuntarily rested your head against his shoulder, and let your hand find his other side. 

Bucky held you closed to him as he carried you through the lobby and out to the van, not bothered by the weight of you semi unconscious form. He felt the softness of your body against him, the warmth of your skin seeping through your clothes. It felt so much better to feel your body against his this time around, when what he was doing was helpful and not hurtful, and for that he was relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter felt a bit repetitive of what happened with Steve in the last chapter... but I hope you liked the more "heroic" side of Bucky, not taking any bullshit ;)
> 
> The next update might be a little while longer than usual, but I'm not sure! I have a lot to do, and won't be home for a few days, and I don't know how much time I'll get to write... Not sure though, but just so you know what's up if that's the case :) See you in the comments! <3


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Protective officers ain't all what it's cracked up to be... 
> 
> And we might get to hear the word 'sorry'...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Mentions of sexual acts, threats, and a basic warning for mentions of everything having taken place already.

You were back in your bunk, still drowsy and dizzy from the medication. The doctor hadn’t told you just how under you would actually be from the ‘mild’ sedative... You could only vaguely remember the car ride back to Litchfield, or how you even got into the car in the first place. You remembered resting your head on something warm and solid but still soft, and calm, low voices speaking, but you didn’t remember what they were saying. It didn’t matter though, it probably wasn’t meant for your ears anyways. 

How you got to lay on your bed again and sleep it all off, was thanks to the kind officer Fisher who had led you back to the dorm, letting you lean on her as you stumbled along, that much you knew. You could still hear some of her encouraging words. Where Bucky had disappeared to you had no idea, but you weren’t about to argue with it. 

Every second spent with one of the men who had raped you was painful to bare. There was no hiding from the truth then, no other thoughts to hide behind when it was all still present in front of you. You felt them on your body, _inside_ your body. They were everywhere in your mind, and everywhere out in the world. There was no escaping them. 

If only they would leave you alone, leave you to your own devices. But that would never happen, that much you were sure of. Either they wanted to bear witness to your pain, see their work, or simply do more of it. The fact that they hadn’t hurt you since was not as reassuring as you wished it would be. It was a constant worry of doing something wrong, of guessing when the next moment would be, or what they might do. Was your wrist just the first of many breaks?

Your wrist was slightly throbbing come to think of it, still moulding to the cast. But the lingering buzz of morphine coursing through your system was dulling it nicely, and everything else for that matter. And the fuzzy feeling in your head wasn’t a bad vacation after everything you had been through. You were glad to have it over and done with, but coming back to the cage of politeness and tiptoeing around the men that harmed you was its own kind of pain. 

Not remembering all that happened in the hospital was worrisome. Had you been touched in any way? Had officer Barnes seized the opportunity to get his hands on you without a fight? Although there was no fight left in you anymore. He could do what he wanted, and you would let him. It hurt less to do so. But you hated not knowing. 

The rest of the evening went by in a haze. You stayed were you were, going in and out of consciousness, not getting up to do anything if you could help it. But, of course, you couldn’t. So, when officer Rogers and Bennett came in to do a count before lights out, you reluctantly got out of bed. Sitting was still very painful, but walking and standing was almost painless at this point. So, you stood up and shuffled over to stand outside your cube, ready to be counted. There were still some slacking inmates coming in from behind the officers, Gina being one of them, scurrying like it was her only gait. 

Steve spotted you from across the room. Bucky had let him know everything that had happened, and he was relieved to hear that everything had gone well. As well as the doctor’s tries to get you to agree to a check-up, which was shut down by both you and Bucky alike. He still felt like shit for being comforted by that fact, when you might be in more need of medical attention but too afraid to ask for it. Too afraid of them. But it allowed them time to think, to be there for you, to protect you from others and make everything right. Or at least try. 

“Count time, ladies,” Bennett said, and everyone quieted down. 

The officers passed through the dorm, one side each per usual. Steve was brought closer and closer by the second, and you willed yourself not to close your eyes and wish him away. He passed with a click of his counter in hand, not stalling close to you, or staring blatantly. Sure, he looked down at your recoiled form still protecting your now reset wrist, but his eyes didn’t linger like they had before. He wasn’t stalking you like prey like he had before. But that didn’t stop the wolf whistle from Tricia. 

Pretty much every inmate started choking on their laughter, trying to hold it back. There were several spurts of amused chuckles coming from all around, eyeing both you and the officer standing not too far from you. You looked shamed and scared where you stood, Steve just looked pissed. 

“That’s enough,” he barked at everyone, before zeroing in on Tricia. “You wanna spent a few days down in seg, inmate?” 

She visible gulped, cowering under his height and gaze as he glared down at her, taking a step closer. 

“No, sir,” she said, head down and eyes turned away. 

“Then keep your mouth shut. Or I’ll shut it for you.” 

Steve threw a quick glance around the room. Everyone had quieted down, not finding the officer in any way amusing in his threats. Bennett was looking around as well, equally disappointed in everyone as Steve was, but he didn’t add anything.

Steve turned his head to get a look at you, to see how you were doing with it all. You looked sad. Brows worried together and eyes down on your scuffing boot. He hated seeing you like that. After everything you had been through, _everything_ , you didn’t deserve to be name called and ridiculed. But you were in this position because of him. This too, was his doing. 

He looked back at Tricia, not too happy about her instigating things and making everything even worse than it had to be. 

“You open your mouth one more time, and you’ll be rotting in the SHU.” 

Tricia flinched back, eyes jumping up to meet his for just a millisecond, before she nodded at him to acknowledge his words. Steve carried on with the count, the tension in the room now palpable, before he met up with Bennett to check numbers. Both men gave everyone a measured gaze, both fed up with the childish antics, before leaving.

The inmates started turning back to their cubes, heading for the bathroom, or wherever they needed to roam before the privilege was revoked, but not Tricia. She watched you like a hawk, despite you not looking up at any point whilst starting to go back into your cube. 

“Nice guard dog you have,” she said, making you freeze in the doorway.

She crossed her thin, spaghetti arms over her equally thin chest, and took a few steps closer to you. You still didn’t move. You kept her in your peripheral, turning to keep your wrist protected should she do anything other than talk. 

“Must be nice to be protected by your boyfriend,” she said, and scoffed. “Or at least one of ‘em.” 

Snicker was heard behind you, most likely some of Tricia’s friends who found it all very amusing to watch. 

“He’s not my boyfriend...” 

Your voice was low, and not very strong, but you didn’t have the energy to argue. The drugs were still leaving your system, and you desperately wanted to go to sleep. But you didn’t want to let her keep thinking that about Steve, or anyone else for that matter. You didn’t want them referred to as anything romantical. 

Tricia scoffed at you, moving her tongue around in her mouth before speaking. 

“Oh, no? That’s the second time he’s threatened me. For you.”

“That’s the second time you’ve insinuated that he has an inappropriate relationship with an inmate.” 

Oh, where was this spit coming from? Jess, behave! You’re gonna get your ass kicked by a noodle. Well, at least the morphine will dull the pain.

You heard some ooh’s from somewhere in the dorm, and Tricia did not look all that happy at you clapping back at her. She shuffled from one foot to the other, mouth twitching as if wanting to move up into a snarl at you. 

She took a step towards you, grabbed you by the shoulder and shoved you against the side of the doorway, half your body still visible in the dividing corridor. You raised your head but didn’t give her the time of day when she tried to tower over you, which was hard when you’re the same height as someone, and could very well be snapped like a twig, but that didn’t stop her from trying to act intimidating. 

“I’m not insinuating shit! We all know they’re fucking you. So, how are they, huh? They any good?” 

You just wanted to press yourself into the wall and disappear, not wanting to hear how Tricia was talking about the men who had raped you, asking about their performance. You didn’t want to remember anything about that night, or the pain they’d inflicted on you. 

“Where’s your little hiding spot?” she went on. “A utility closet? The bubble? Or... maybe they bend you over a fucking table in the cafeteria when they’re on the nightshift, and fuck you raw? Hmm? Is that it? They fuck you right in the open when no one’s around to see?” 

She was all up in your face, and you just wanted to sink through the wall and crumble into a heap of bones. You shut your eyes so hard you could see stars twinkling in the black. You didn’t want to listen to her, didn’t want to hear anymore of her words, hear her talk about Steve and Bucky fucking you like it was in any way consensual. Like it was something dreamy to obtain. Like something out of a whimsical porno. 

The truth was much more brutal, much more painful and traumatic. It was nothing fanciful or tender about the way they manhandled you down onto that table, held you down and forced themselves into you against all your struggle. You just wanted them to stop, wanted her to stop. 

“Stop...”

But Tricia just laughed at you, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she watched you recoil into yourself, pressing back into the unmoving bricks of the wall. 

“Is that what you said to them, huh? You like it rough? Want ‘em to give you the full officer-treatment, hmm? Cuffs and all? Maybe even fuck you with their nightsticks?” 

Her voice contorted into a laugh, which was echoed by her friends, who had started to creep closer to join in on the fun, circling like a cackle of hyenas. She turned her head to give everyone a better view, as she continued taunting you. 

“Maybe they stick their cocks up your ass and fuck your twat with the stick, huh? Maybe spit roast you? Fuck an end each?” 

Laughter was starting to roar in the dormitory, Tricia making quite the show out of it all. Even inmates who weren’t in on it, on either side, were starting to find her teasing amusing. But not you. You were creeping closer and closer to a breakdown with every word being said. It was all starting to play out in your head, everything was becoming so real you could feel the phantom touch of their fingers and more. Goosebumps prickled your skin like an armour of thorns, tears stung behind your eyes, beckoning you to open up and let them fall. So, you did, and everyone laughed even harder. 

“See?” Tricia said to the room with a triumphant smile. “I fucking told y’all. This bitch is gettin’ fucked by the guards, and gettin’ treats for it. I hope that fucking chocolate’s worth it,” she said through a laugh, and, finally, stepped back. 

Your shoulders were up to your ears by now, tears streaking your face. It hurt all over. Your body remembered their treatment of you, how they had hurt you. Tricia’s few words of truth hit like an arrow right into your soul. They were everywhere. Even when they weren’t here with you, you could still feel them. 

And you were right to. Because behind the glass windows of the bubble to B-dorm, officer Barnes looked out, having just stepped in with his cup of coffee and another crosswords magazine to entertain him through the night. He saw Tricia Miller mentally pinning you to the wall, and laughing as she did. He couldn’t see your face, it was turned in towards your bunk, but the parts he could see of your body were all showing signs of discomfort and fear, and that boiled his blood. 

He slapped the magazine down on the counter, his coffee spilling over the edge of his cup as it followed, and slammed the door to the dorm open. 

“Hey!” he barked, and everyone’s smiles turned into dreading lines of worry at the sight of the angry officer. 

Hearing his roaring voice shout out made your breathing seize up. He was going to hurt you. He was coming over and he was going to hurt you again. It was happening all over again, you were sure of it. But his eyes were set on another inmate.

Tricia gave a short, nervous scoff as Bucky’s steps ate up the ground quickly, holding her hands out to show she wasn’t a threat. She took a few staggering, fearful, steps backwards, looking around her for some support. 

“Ey, I wasn’t doing nothin’,” she said, but her voice reeked of apprehension. 

“Oh, yeah?” Bucky said through gritted teeth, and grabbed her arm with way more force than needed, and she winced. “I have fucking eyes, inmate. Think I didn’t see that?” 

She gulped, eyes locked with his and not able to look away, no matter how much she wanted to. He was almost lifting her off her feet with his grip on her. 

“We-we were just messin’ around, ya know?” she tried through a nervous snort.

But Bucky wasn’t believing any of it, having seen enough to know that she was lying. His jaw clenched as he scowled down at her. 

“Didn’t look like Harper was enjoying it much,” he said, and turned on his heel with her swinging at his side. “You’re going to seg, inmate.”

“What? The fuck, dude? Ow!” 

Bucky yanked on her arm at her disrespectful words, not giving one fuck about her discomfort whatsoever. As he passed your cube, he looked to your cowering form still stuck to the wall, not daring to move an inch. You were trembling even, tears still falling down from your eyes, landing on the floor in a growing puddle. Oh, Miller was going to stay in seg for some time for this! 

Bucky stalked out of the room with Tricia still complaining loudly at his treatment, but he had every right to step in and do it. The fact that it was you he was helping and not just some random inmate, made him feel extra good about his interference, but he wished he would have caught it sooner. Maybe then he wouldn’t have left you behind in tears. 

Everyone still left in the dorm were all quiet and tense after the officer walked away with Tricia dragging behind. Some looked accusingly at you, some seemed more ashamed of their own actions during it all. There were only a few that hadn’t joined in on the laughter, but mostly because they just didn’t care about the trivial matters of prison squabbles. 

When it felt safe to do so, you tried once again to get to your bed and have a lie down, hopefully even sleep, but that was doubtful with all these questions running amok. Why had Bucky done that? Maybe he didn’t want someone else messing with you that wasn’t him or Steve. Perhaps they wanted the joy of being the ones to make you squirm exclusively, who knew? Or maybe it was a ruse to add even more fuel to the fire... God only knows what everyone must be thinking after Steve and Bucky both had told Tricia off for messing with you. Sure, her behaviour did call for correcting during both occasions, but they were both directed at you, and that was the conclusion everyone would come to in the end. 

First Steve, then Bucky. It did not look good in anyone’s eyes. And in yours, it looked like a setup. They would most likely want you to be grateful for them stepping in and shutting Tricia down, something past experiences told you was not fun for you. Perhaps a sexual favour would be enough? Just a quick blowjob and you’d be done. You hoped that was the case.

You turned your head into the pillow and let go of the tears still dragging behind, weeping like a baby missing its mama. Images were flashing in your head of everything Tricia had said, everything the officers might do to you. You couldn’t survive anymore, you didn’t want to. You just wanted to disappear, to fall asleep and never wake up. But alas, the only thing you got was some relief of the tears shed, but sleep never found you. You just stayed where you were, and let time pass by, no matter how slow.

Everyone started quieting down, and soon they were asleep. Maybe not everyone, but most at least, but not you. Not only was your bladder poking for attention sooner rather than later, and sooner couldn’t come soon enough apparently, but you could endure some added pain to avoid potentially having worse done to you by any of the inmates in Tricia’s crew. But the main reason you stayed put, was that you were just waiting for officer Barnes to come back and call you away from everyone, tell you to show your appreciation. It was a regular occurrence with Nate, so why would Steve or Bucky be any different?

Officer Kowalski had been the one to strut through the dorm once the lights were lowered, checking for attendance and counting heads. You guessed that Bucky was busy taking Tricia down to solitary, but he would be back soon. What would he do? What would he ask of you in return for everything done? Would Steve also expect to be ‘thanked’? Worries circled in your head, overshadowing everything else. Your body tensed up with even the slightest dread of being invaded again, making your bladder press even harder for relief, but you didn’t care. You fought hard to ignore it, but all these ‘what ifs’ were growing like fields of dark sunflowers calling for attention.

Bucky had sent Tricia Miller off with Bennett to take her down to the SHU. His shift was ending soon, so Bucky had told him he could leave for the day when he was done. Bucky was his superior officer, something which came with a few perks. Instead of taking her down himself, he had gone to find Steve and share the latest news with him, as per usual. 

“Hey, Stevie,” he said when he found him at the intake, going over some papers. 

There was no one around except for an inmate further down the hall who was currently mopping the floor and mumbling to herself. Whatever she was saying they couldn’t hear, so she probably couldn’t hear them either. Bucky rested both his forearms on the counter, looking over it and down to see whatever Steve was doing, which didn’t seem all that exciting. 

“I sent Tricia Miller down to the SHU,” Bucky said matter-of-factly. “Thought you should know that, as _captain_ and all.” 

Bucky wasn’t actually upset about Steve being assigned captain in Caputo’s absence, he just liked to tease him for whatever reason he could find, and Steve was a good sport about it. He knew Bucky didn’t have his eyes on any higher positions at work, so he took the jabs all in jest, giving his friend a glare and a tight, sarcastic smile. 

“Thank you, officer,” Steve said, and kept on fiddling with his papers. “Please write up a report and hand it in at your earliest convenience.” 

Bucky sighed, but couldn’t help but give a slight laughing scoff. 

“God, you’re a pain in the ass,” he said, and smiled at Steve who just returned it. 

“For real though,” Steve said. “What Miller do this time? I already told her off for inappropriate behaviour during count.” 

“She was messing with Jess.”

That got Steve’s attention, and he looked up from his papers, even closing the open folder he had before him. He put his hands on the counter and leaned forward. 

“Really? What happened?” 

Bucky gave him a shrug. 

“Don’t know, didn’t see it all. All I saw was Miller and some of her friends laughing, and Jess was pretty much pinned to the wall. She was crying and all, so... couldn’t have been nice, whatever it was.” 

Steve nodded slowly as Bucky spoke, taking it in. It seemed to be something to that Miller/Millers name that just wanted to fuck with you apparently, make your life a living hell. It was infuriating. 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “She whistled suggestively during count. I think the rumours of some sort of sexual relationship is at the root of it. Which, of course, is our fault. Well... mine.” 

Steve looked down, ashamed of the truth of it, in all aspects. But Bucky gave him an apologetic look. 

“It’s both our fault,” he said with a sigh. “We’re both to blame for everything and anything that’s happened to her.” 

Steve nodded, feeling like he actually wasn’t alone in baring the burden of it all, even though he still couldn’t get the shame to leave him alone. And the inmates weren’t all that wrong about what the two of them had been doing with you, just the gist of it. He had many things to feel ashamed about lately. 

“Yeah, well,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Good thing you took Miller to SHU. Maybe that’ll ease some of the pressure off of Jess.” 

“Yeah, maybe,” Bucky agreed, but sounded doubtful. “She doesn’t look too good, Steve.” 

Steve heard the seriousness of Bucky’s voice, and met his worried eyes. The remorse and regret were hard to deal with as it were, even more so when seeing that you were hurting, for whatever reason. They felt responsible for you, and wanted to look out for you. Maybe in some way that would make it all better, make you feel better about them and not see them as monsters. At least not completely. 

Steve sighed. 

“We’ll keep an eye on her, Buck. Make sure she’s safe.”

Bucky nodded, trying to convince himself to listen and not let it all eat him up inside. 

“Okay,” he said with a firm nod of his head, trying to clear out all the doubt. “Think Caputo’s reached the lawyer?”

Steve quirked an eyebrow and drew a deep breath. 

“I haven’t heard anything. It’s getting late so I think it’s a lost cause for the night. He’ll continue tomorrow, I’m not even sure he’s still here, his shift ended an hour ago.”

Bucky nodded at him. He felt kind of crestfallen that Joe still hadn’t managed to reach your lawyer and start get the ball rolling. You deserved a win after everything. But he decided to look on the bright side of things, and take another dig at Steve.

“Well,” he said, and knocked his knuckles on the counter. “At least I don’t have to take orders from your dumb ass anymore.”

He gave Steve a shit-eating grin when he met his sarcastically annoyed face. Steve glared at him for a moment. 

“Just get back to the bubble, punk.” 

Bucky let out a short-lived guffaw enough to jolt his entire body, before it died down to just a wide grin. He cleared his throat and straightened his back, trying to look serious, though his smile and tone greatly betrayed him. 

“Sir, yes, sir.” 

Steve couldn’t help the smile that broke out at the sarcastic honorific to mimic their military days. He watched Bucky’s back as he walked off towards the dorms to go about his round. 

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he shouted after him, and Bucky raised a hand in acknowledgment, but nothing more. “Jerk,” Steve muttered under his breath, and finished the last of the paperwork. 

Bucky checked all of dorm A, C and D before heading back to B-dorm. Kowalski was keeping tabs on the other three, much smaller dorms which were all connected, but Bucky wanted to return the favor and give Kowalski the rest, at least for one check. Everything was as calm as it should be, so he headed to his own dominium for the night, eager to see how you were doing. 

Sleep still hadn’t found you after the worries were all resurfaced by Tricia’s words. It didn’t take much to dig them up, you never managed to bury then particularly deep. The fact that they had even been buried under something at all to begin with was astonishing. But then again, the treatment and use of you was not new. Nate had gone through quite an artillery of inventive things to do to you, so there wasn’t much left that would be new to you. But the fear was different. 

Fearing not one man, but two different men was something else entirely. And these men had all the power in the world over you, not just physically. It didn’t take much to overpower you, and Nate had done a bang-up job of breaking you down both emotionally and mentally as well, so all they had to do was pick up where he left off. But these men were authority figures, people put in charge and most likely were trusted by their peers. And you were a convicted felon, an inmate in a prison on the charges of murder. There was no way anyone would believe one word you had to say about either officers that could tarnish their reputation, and that was an even scarier truth. 

You lay on your side, watching Gina sleep soundly in the bed across the cube. She had her back to you as always, blankets up to her ears. There was something hypnotic about watching the slow rise and fall of her chest, while you yourself couldn’t find a calm nerve in your body that would grant you sleep. 

The small creak of the heavy door being opened stood out in the sea of soft snores and mumbles. Low, steady footsteps drew near, and you recognized his footing right away. Your heart beat loud against your sternum, the thrumming echoing in your ears. You could see the reflective light of his flashlight on the ground, pendulating from one side to the other until its source was visible behind the dividing wall, and the hand which controlled it came into view. 

Bucky stopped in his tracks, slowly peeking his head around the wall to see if you were awake. Your eyes were set on the circle of light on the floor from his flashlight, but you were very much awake. He stepped inside the cube, speaking in a hushed voice. 

“You okay?” 

He could almost swear he saw a tremble travel through you, but he couldn’t be sure. It could be a trick of the light, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t.

Was this it? you wondered.

“Yes, sir,” you said, also keeping your voice hushed and low enough so no one would hear. 

You slowly sat up in your bed, lifting the blanket off your body as you slowly rose up and planted your feet on the floor, still sitting down despite the pain. You were still wearing your clothes, even your hoodie, anything to cover up the still healing bruises. 

“Where would you like to go, sir?” 

Bucky furrowed his brows, not understanding what you meant. He swayed uncertainly from one foot to the other.

“What?” he asked, almost ducking his head to get closer and make sure you heard him.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. It wasn’t anything new to be asked to ridicule yourself through an explanation, making it seem like you were indeed asking for it. 

“So I can thank you properly, sir,” you asked, and bowed your head at the mention. 

Bucky couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You were blatantly asking for him to take you somewhere private so you could ‘thank him’ for what he did. You were actually offering to service him just to appease him, probably doing so to not risk having him demand it and hurt you. What the hell had Millers done to you? 

“N-no, I…” he started and took another step in to really make sure that no one heard him.

You fought hard not to flinch back when he came closer. After all, you would have to get even closer if you were going to make him happy. You didn’t look up when he all but towered over you. Though his energy was forgiving instead of intimidating, it did nothing to reassure you of any kind intentions. 

“I don’t want anything in return for what happened with Tricia Miller. I was just doing my job.” 

He looked down at the top of your head. You didn’t look all that convinced where you sat staring at the floor, or more accurately; his boots. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you, Jess.” 

‘I’m not gonna hurt you’. How many times had you heard those words being said to you, only to then have the opposite proven? Those words were nothing more than a smokescreen, a mirror in a funhouse to show a distorted reflection of reality. 

Your brows twitched in apprehension, you opened your mouth but didn’t know what to say. Did he want you to beg him to let you suck his dick to show gratitude, anything to make him happy? Or was he simply not in the mood? Or maybe the coast just wasn’t clear enough. All these ‘what ifs’ were getting exhausting to keep track of, or even try to sort through. 

Bucky saw your struggle, figuring you didn’t know what to say to that. Maybe it was the first time you had even heard a man say that to you? Though he guessed it was most likely a lack of trust of his words that made you mute. After what he did, after what Steve did… he really couldn’t blame you for not believing him. 

Bucky drew a deep breath only to let it out, and crouched down before you. He watched you recoil, slightly shifting where you sat on the bed. Your face scrunched up in pain from the movement, and your eyes started glistening with unshed tears even in the dimly lighted room. God, could he just do something to not scare you? He hoped at least his words would come out right. 

“I know you don’t believe me when I say that, but I do mean it. I’m not…” he sighed as he tried to find his words. “I’m not gonna hurt you again, Jess. Neither is Steve. We’re… we’re so, so sorry for what we did, we—” 

Bucky stopped himself. He couldn’t say too much or he would spill everything. He had no idea how to ever even start apologizing for what both he and Steve had done, but he had to say something to try and reassure you of your safety. They weren’t going to hurt you again, they weren’t going to rape you again. And he needed you to know that. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, stood up and walked out of the dorm. 

You watched his back as he left, not understanding what had just happened. It was like you were in some kind of dream state, or an alternate reality. Like up was down, and right was left. Were you even here? Was this real? 

Your heart started beating like it was trying to pound a hole in your chest. Your pulse was loud in your ears, thrumming away like it was trying to drown out everything else. Eventually it won. Your head filled with static, buzzing like a billion mosquitos had invaded your mind. Without noticing, you started rocking back and forth whilst cradling your head, the pain in your lower parts forgotten and overruled by fear. Everything started spinning. Even when you shut your eyes, everything was still spinning. 

What had happened? You didn’t understand it. You just couldn’t wrap your head around it, no matter how hard you tried. What was this game? What had you missed? Surely there must be something that you’ve missed. Oh, no, what had you missed? There must be something. You couldn’t remember doing anything wrong. You had followed all the rules! Think, Jess, think! If you don’t figure this out soon, you’re gonna end up dead, or even worse… Just figure out the rules!

Bucky was sitting in his chair in the bubble, elbows on his knees and his hands folded underneath his chin. He was lost in thought and emotion. So much so, that he didn’t notice Steve walking in behind him, until he pulled out a chair from under the table and sat himself down with a loud puff of air. 

“Oh,” Bucky said and cleared his throat. “Hey.” 

Steve looked at him searchingly. 

“Everything okay?” he asked, before looking out through the glass at the dark dorm. “Jess okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, she’s fine,” Bucky said, and raked his fingers through his hair.

He sighed loudly, still lost in the moment that had only just passed. Steve was getting worried.

“Seriously, Bucky. What’s going on?” 

Bucky sighed again, and leaned his forearms on his knees. 

“I… I talked to Jess,” he said, and waited a beat before continuing. “I asked if she was okay after everything, and she…” he gave a saddened scoff. “She asked where I wanted to go, so she could thank me properly.” 

He let that sink in for a moment, seeing the wheels turning in Steve’s head. His face contorted from worry about Bucky, to worry about Jess and the whole situation. 

“She what?” Steve asked dumbfounded, frozen in his seat. 

“Yeah,” Bucky said as he nodded continuously, and gave a sad, ironic chuckle. “She actually asked to basically suck my dick because I stepped in when they were ganging up on her. She wanted to make sure I knew that she was grateful for it. I mean, how fucked up is that, Steve?” 

Steve sighed and pressed the palm of his hand into his eye. 

“Jesus…” 

You must be so scared in order to do that, to offer yourself and hope it was what Bucky wanted of you. How on earth could they not see it before? Everything you did reeked of subservience, obedience and fear. They really must have spurred each other on just to keep from seeing it, to keep from redirecting their venom.

Steve couldn’t separate his feelings of hate between Nate and himself. They blended on far too many spectrums. Millers had done such a good job to keep everyone in the dark, to keep his true nature hidden. And here he and Bucky were, keeping their own secrets hidden, as you slowly crumbled into nothingness. 

“What’d you say?” Steve asked, feeling as pensive as he looked. 

“That I wasn’t going to hurt her,” Bucky said. “And neither were you. Then I said I was sorry.”

Whether it was the right time or not was still up for debate, but the truth of his words and their need to be said was still clear. He needed you to know that he was sorry. They both did. 

Steve inhaled deeply, his already broad chest puffing out before he released it. 

“Yeah…” was all he said, feeling the itch to do the same. 

“It just slipped out,” Bucky said, looking down at his hands. “I couldn’t look at her and not say something when she’s _that_ scared of me.” 

Steve nodded. He understood completely. It was just a matter of time before one or both of them started letting the apologies flow. 

“Well,” Steve said and looked out into the dark room. “Wouldn’t mind doing the same.”

Bucky looked up at that. 

“Think that’s wise?” he said. “I mean, I don’t know if someone might’ve heard it. I didn’t say anything about the… rape, but… Never know what conclusions these women come to, you know?” 

“Yeah, but I can’t not say anything, Bucky, when you’ve already opened that door. I mean… I’m sure she’s not gonna believe either one of us, but… I have to tell her that I’m sorry. For everything.”

Bucky watched Steve’s face go from eagerness to sadness at the slightest mention of what they had done. He wasn’t going to lie and say that apologizing didn’t ease some of the pain of it all, despite Steve being right about you probably not believing either one of them. 

You sat there on the bed just staring out into the dark, trying to makes sense of… well, anything. It was such a strange thing for the officer to do, to say that he was sorry. Nate had never said that to you, not unless it was mandatory and he had to put on a front. But this didn’t feel like that. Bucky had seemed almost like he was cornered, like there wasn’t anything else he could possibly say. Like he actually meant it. What was this game?

Had someone heard him talk to you? Was someone else awake? They would probably take the chance to come up to you and call you out on whatever the situation was if that was the case. No one passed up the chance to step up, or create even more gossip. And after what happened earlier, you were most likely the most wanted, and not in a good way.

Which reminded you of the more pressing issue, no pun intended. Your bladder was loudly calling out for some attention sooner rather than later. Stretching your neck, you spotted the clock on the far side wall; it was closing in on midnight. You’d have to go now, or wait until morning, unless you wanted to risk getting another shot for being out of bed when you weren’t allowed. Should you risk it? Both officers were working the night, which meant they could go in the bathroom if was needed. Maybe that was what they wanted? Should you go and see what happened?

You decided to do so, figuring it might be the right move in whatever new kind of game these men were playing. Grabbing a roll of toilet paper and your toiletries from the top of your locker, you stood up on weak legs. Your knees were almost shaking with apprehension, but you kept on. You walked slowly and quietly around the wall, hoping no one was awake to see. Despite keeping your eyes down on the ground before your feet, you could see both officer Rogers and officer Barnes sitting in the bubble, the dim light shadowing and darkening their shapes. All the hair on the back of your neck rose up, but you had to keep going. 

Bucky and Steve both watched you shuffle across the floor, heading for the door. Steve checked the time; you had about ten minutes before the clock struck twelve. You knew it was last call, and had decided to chance it. He recalled the last time you had gone to the bathroom just before midnight, and what he had done. Yet another thing to feel shame about. 

“I’ll go now,” Steve said, and stood up from his chair. 

Bucky sighed, yet again, feeling like it was a risky move, but he couldn’t argue when he himself had just been dumb enough to talk to you out in the open like that. At least Steve could plan his words a bit better, and maybe not be propositioned right before apologizing, after conditioning you to do it in the first place. 

“Be careful,” Bucky said just before Steve was out the door but turned his head. “She’s already a bit freaked out. And make sure not to say anything about... the footage.” 

Even just the mention brought back all the horrible images they had witnessed playing back in those videos, and the horrible images of what they themselves had done. 

Steve nodded with a reassuring smile on his lips, and disappeared behind the doorframe, heading towards the B-dorm bathroom. 

Your bladder thanked you for the relief, and some of the added anxiety was lessened too. You changed the pad you had on, surprised at how little blood had seeped out. Maybe you were healing even faster with morphine in your system? 

Throwing the bloodied rag away, you washed your hands and brushed your teeth. It didn’t matter that you would want to do it again should you be forced to suck any dicks tonight, going through the motions and following the routine helped keep the mind ghosts at bay, at least until the officers showed up. 

They never did. You even waited a minute longer in case they were going to show, but no one came. You looked at the clock on the wall; two minutes left. You were cutting it close, you had to get back. 

You rounded the corner from the bathroom to the corridor, and were met by a patient Steve standing just a few feet away from you, waiting. He was leaning one shoulder on the wall, facing you, and his hands were both in his pockets. He didn’t look mad, or predatory in any way where he stood staring down at the floor before looking up at you, but tell that to the lump in your throat. 

Steve turned the corners of his mouth up in a gentle smile, not pushing off the wall, but stayed where he was. 

“Hi,” he said softly, his smile still as gentle.

You stood as still as you could, not really knowing what to do besides wait. 

“H-hello, sir.” 

Steve nodded his head, looking back down at the ground. How he hated to hear that fearful ‘sir’ added after everything you said, hated that he had enforced it with his behaviour. 

“Bucky told me what happened earlier,” he said. “With Miller. Tricia,” he corrected when realizing the similar name to your late stepbrother. 

Was he waiting for you to say something, or should you just be quiet? You went for the last option, but made sure not to look disinterested in what he was saying. 

Steve put his hand back in his pocket after it had flown up, seemingly on its own, when he added the name. 

“How he went back to check on you,” he continued. “To see that you were okay. He—He didn’t see what happened with her but he saw that whatever it was, it was making you uncomfortable, so he wanted to make sure.” Steve waited a beat, but you didn’t move a muscle. “If I’d known it was gonna blow up, I would’ve removed her earlier.” 

What? Was this another addition to things you should be grateful for? Things you needed to show gratitude for? 

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, trying to find the words. 

“Y-y...” you swallowed. “You couldn’t h-have known, sir.” 

Please let that be the right thing to say. 

Steve blew some air out of his nose, almost like a strangled snort. 

“Yeah, well, I should’ve known,” he said. “Then Bucky wouldn’t have needed to step in and remove her, and make an even bigger scene out of it all. If I had just done it straight away, you wouldn’t feel the need to thank him for what he did.” 

Now you understood where he was getting at. He wanted you to thank him, not just Bucky. But why he wasn’t crude about it and simply just told you to get on your knees you still couldn’t understand. Both officers had seemed very comfortable with giving orders before. 

You closed your eyes for just a brief moment, pushing down the shame that was starting to bubble up inside you for what you were about to say. 

“Would you like me to show you my gratitude, sir?” 

Steve looked up from the spot on the floor which had taken his interest while he waited for you to speak. He pushed off the wall, but immediately regretted it when you took and involuntary step back, before catching yourself and stepping forward again. You were looking straight ahead, eyes lost somewhere in the long corridor. Anything to not look at him. 

“No, no, I...” he took a breath, and tried again, keeping his distance. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t want anything from you, Jess. No, I came here... to apologize.” 

What did they mean by that? What the hell kind of game was this, you couldn’t figure anything out! One step right, then two steps left, and then it all changed again. What were they getting at? Was it just to play with your mind, make you think they were something that they weren’t and fool you into feigned security? 

Steve sighed again, and dared to take a small step closer to you. You didn’t flinch back, but he could see the tension grow in your shoulders, and you hugged the items you were holding even closer to you. His eyes fell on the cast, and he had to ask. 

“Which one of us did that?” 

He lifted a finger to point at the cast, as if to clarify what he was referring to. 

Would he be disappointed that it wasn’t him? You swallowed hard. 

“O-officer Barnes... sir.”

Your voice was weak and shaky, your jaw trembling with the growing tension. Was he going to break your other wrist now, to make it even between the two? 

“Bucky?” Steve asked lowly, and you only nodded in response. 

He nodded his head back at you, making sure to keep his movements slow as to not scare you even more. He didn’t want to linger on the information, that was not the reason he was there, and he actually wasn’t relieved by the fact that it wasn’t him. He cleared his throat. 

“I’m really sorry that happened,” he said, and saw the quick furrow of your brows for just a second. “I’m sorry any of it happened. It’s not gonna happen again, I promise you that.” 

He watched your face as you processed what he was saying. Never once did you look reassured by his words, only pensive and worried. He kept talking anyway. 

“I know you probably don’t believe us after what we did, and we don’t expect you to forgive us, and we would never ask you to. But I just want you to know that… I’m sorry.” He drew a deep breath to compose himself. “I never thought I would ever do something like that… But I did what I did, and there’s no changing that. But I am sorry. I’m so sorry, Jess.” 

A lonely tear ran down your cheek at the words. Whatever game, whatever angle they were getting at, whatever their intentions were, you had never ever heard anyone say that they were sorry for hurting you. The words felt light and warm when he spoke them. You never knew how much you had wanted to hear those words being said, no matter it they held any truth or not. He had said them. You heard him say it, and the context was clear. You knew what he was saying sorry for. 

Steve watched the tear slowly fall down your face, how your mouth opened in a silent gasp of disbelief. You looked stunned. He wasn’t sure if you even cared to hear him say it, or if you could even begin to believe him, but he felt better for having said it. He just hoped it would make a difference. 

You closed your mouth, licking your lips to try and taste any words wanting to come out. Questions were running haywire in your mind, and dread grew as you didn’t know the correct response. Was it even real? 

“…okay…” 

Steve couldn’t fight the tender smile spreading on his lips when the soft-spoken word met his ears. He looked down at you, wanting just to hold you and make it all better, but he knew better. He would never truly understand what you felt, or how what he and Bucky had done had affected you. But he could understand that you’d rather not have them embrace you for their own selfish need for reassurance. 

“Okay,” he echoed, his own voice stronger and surer.

He let out a breath of relief, feeling some of the weight lift off his shoulders from just speaking the words. It was no way near enough, and he still hated himself down to the bone. But the initial itch to tell all, to let you know that they knew about the footage, that they knew about your past was severally lessened, and for that he was grateful. Because that was protecting you. If you knew about it now, before anything could be done, or the ball had even begin to roll, that might be even more damaging than keeping you in the dark. And if them saying they were sorry could help even one bit, then that was just an added bonus. 

“You should probably get some sleep,” he said, and turned his body so he wasn’t blocking you. 

You nodded again, and started shuffling forward, half expecting him to stop you. He didn’t, he just followed along beside you, one step behind the entire way. 

It wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be behind you, you should walk behind him. He was a man, an officer, your own tormenter… You should show him the respect of not walking ahead of him. But whenever you slowed, so did he, so you just had to keep walking. 

The door was straight ahead, just a few feet left. Your eyes darted up to the ticking clock above it, noting that it was now four minutes past midnight. That was a shot. 

You slowed your steps to a full stop, and turned your body slightly towards him. He kept his broad shoulders hunched forward, trying to appear smaller and less intimidating, but you knew the truth. He looked down at you as you spoke. 

“I-I’m sorry I’m late back, sir.” 

Your voice barely carried any volume, almost brittle to the sound. At first he couldn’t understand what you were getting at, but then he looked up to find the clock staring back at him, the time mockingly continuing to tick by. 

“Oh,” he said. “Oh, no, that’s—You’re not in trouble. You wouldn’t have been late if I didn’t stop to talk to you, so…” 

Your eyes darted up to meet the officer’s against your better judgement. You locked eyes with him for a second or two, trying to get a reading on his intentions. He had made you late before, what was different now? Surely it had all been a ruse then? Anything to get you into even more trouble than before. This was all just some sick game they were playing. They were just making a fool out of you. You were nothing more than a toy to them. 

You averted your eyes as quickly as they had jumped up, hiding the tears stinging and fighting for release. Of course, it was all fun and games to them. They just wanted to play tricks on you, see what buttons to push to get you to break. And it was a job well done.

Steve sighed, and reached for the door, speaking before opening it. 

“Just get some shuteye and forget any of this ever happened.” 

If only he could understand that what he meant by those words, was not what you heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I am not done making our boys feel like shit! This all came to me out of nowhere so I didn't fight it. It wanted to get written so it got written... I am as surprised as you are! I know I'm the author but these characters just do whatever and I can't do anything about it, so... I know some things, but not all things, and that's what makes writing this so much fun! :D


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Mental health issues, mentions of past doings and depression. 
> 
> Sorry it's not juicier than that...

Bucky and Steve were both standing by their lockers, getting ready to head home and get some much-needed rest after the emotional day and night. They had yet to get any real downtime to process everything, and they weren’t really sure they could even begin to do so. 

It was a whirlwind of doubts, fears, dread and every other emotion that could possibly haunt them, and saying how sorry they were hadn’t really lessened anything. Not really. Sure, it had put a lid on spilling the beans on what had hit the news, but for their own sake, it was like putting a rug on a mountain of dirt and hoping not to see it. They really just wanted to leave this place and get a badly needed break.

Kowalski shut the refrigerator door after getting his leftovers, and grabbed his jacket from the hook from which it hung. 

“See ya, fellas,” he said, and headed out the door. 

“See ya,” both Bucky and Steve echoed without turning around. 

They weren’t alone for long. Officer Wilson stepped in, just starting his shift, and walked up to the other set of lockers to put his own stuff away. He didn’t give the other men more than a soft ‘hey’, which they both returned. 

Bucky stopped fiddling with his gym bag for a second, and looked over at Sam’s turned back. Another shot of guilt hit him, this time not regarding you, but at the memory of their little conflict a week ago, before everything. Sam had defended you when they had only defended their own actions, and how they had riled up the other inmates. Sam had suffered quite the tongue lashing as a result. 

Bucky cleared his throat, getting both Sam’s and Steve’s attention, who watched with curiosity from beside him. 

“Hey, Wilson,” Bucky started, and Sam turned his head slightly. 

“Yeah?” 

Bucky threw the empty container he held into his bag, and took a few steps closer to Sam, who immediately squared his feet at the approaching man. He didn’t think Bucky would try to throw down in the staffroom, but he wanted to be ready for any type of attack. 

“I, uh… I wanted to apologize for last week,” Bucky said, and Sam raised his brows at him, clearly not expecting that. 

“Okay,” he said calmly, and crossed his arms over his chest as he waited to hear what he had to say. 

He looked past Bucky to Steve who was still standing by his locker, watching the whole thing play out, but didn’t look like he was about to intervene in any way, so whatever happened, it was between Bucky and him. 

“Yeah,” Bucky continued. “I shouldn’t have gotten all up in your face like that. You had every right to voice your concerns about what happened in the cafeteria. With Harper, and everyone.”

Sam leaned his head back a little, standing up straighter. Bucky was an honest man, he’d give him that. He wasn’t too cowardly to admit his mistakes, at least not when shown how wrong he had been. 

“I take it you guys heard the news then?” he asked both the other men, all knowing what he was referring to. 

“Yeah, we did,” Steve said, still keeping his distance and let the other guys clear their history. “Caputo’s working on getting ahold of her lawyers. See what’s gonna happen with her.”

Sam nodded at Steve, who was looking dejected where he stood, a small frown on his face. Bucky cleared his throat again to gain back Sam’s attention. 

“Yeah, but even so, I, uh… I didn’t mean to lose my cool like that, man. Wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry.” 

Bucky held out his hand, waiting for Wilson to take it and accept his apology. It took a second, but eventually Sam’s hand found his. 

“Don’t sweat it, man,” Sam said, but there was still some apprehension in his tone.

They both released their grip, and gave each other a tight smile, before turning back to their lockers. When Bucky looked back to Steve, he got a rewarding raise of an eyebrow shot at him, and a triumphant little smirk. 

“Shut up,” Bucky muttered under his breath to Steve, and slapped his arm playfully. 

“I guess you didn’t know about Millers, huh?” Sam asked out of the blue, and shut his locker with a clash. 

Bucky and Steve shared a look. There wasn’t any sarcasm to Sam’s voice, something they both appreciated. He didn’t seem to be mocking them for their friendship with Millers, but was simply talking about the serious matter at hand, sharing concerns and whatnot. 

“No, we didn’t,” Bucky said, a tinge of bleakness in his voice. 

Sam nodded thoughtfully, folding his arms again as he did. 

“Wouldn’t have him pegged as such a psycho,” he said. “I only saw a few clips of some videos, what they were able to show on the news, but, uh… It was pretty fucking horrible what he did to her.” 

Steve and Bucky alike felt like they just got punched in the stomach. Another reminder of what Millers had done to you. Another reminder of what they had seen in the clips they were showed. Another reminder of what scumbags they both were for doing the same. 

Steve cleared his throat to get rid of the lump that had started to lodge itself there. 

“Well,” he said. “We didn’t see much of it, but it was enough to get an idea. She must have been through hell and back.”

He hated thinking about what Nate must have done to you, the disgusting word he’d carved into you popped back in his mind. How could someone do something like that? Something so utterly evil? He supposed he should be the one to throw any stones though.

Sam jerked his head and looked to the ground, seemingly lost in thought. 

“She’s been through hell alright,” he said. “And this place ain’t no vacation either. Let’s hope Caputo gets in touch with her lawyers sooner rather than later, so they can sort this mess out. I’d hate to see her broken by all this.”

Sam started walking towards the door, he was due to make the morning announcements any minute now.

Bucky and Steve shared a look which seemed to convey all their thoughts and feelings all at once. It was all just one big slap in the face. They knew Sam couldn’t possibly know about what they had done, no one did, but it still stung to hear the worry of their fellow officer. 

Sam was almost out the door when Steve turned around. 

“Hey, Sam,” he said and took a step forward when Sam turned in the door. “Keep an eye out for her, would you? The other inmates are still on her case, you know?” 

If anyone wouldn’t mind keeping an eye out for you in their absence, it was Wilson. He had cared long before either him or Bucky did, or anyone else for that matter. He had believed you to be innocent from the start. 

Sam gave him a tight but reassuring smile. 

“Will do,” he said, and turned to start his day, leaving Steve and Bucky to get their things together and head home. 

Once they reached the seclusion of their house, all the pretend assertion and duties wore off, and they could finally breathe. They hadn’t realized just how tensed up they had been, or how rowdy their inner turmoil was getting. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other the entire car ride home, both trying to sort through their own emotions before sharing them aloud. It was easier said than done. 

Bucky sat down by the table, leaning forward on his knees as he rolled the sleeves of his uniform shirt up his forearms. Steve went to lean against the kitchen counter, holding his elbows in the cushion of his palms, and staring down at his boots as if they would hold some kind of answer. Bucky sighed loudly through his nose, and stared straight ahead with his hands now linked together before his mouth. They stayed like that for a few moments, neither saying anything or making any noise, until eventually Bucky broke the silence with a guilty sentence. 

“She changed her shirt.”

Steve looked up from his spot to look over at Bucky, whose brows had started knitting together.

“What?” he asked, and Bucky drew a deep breath before answering.

“That night, when we…” he stopped himself, and cleared his throat to avoid speaking the word again. “She changed her shirt. I ripped the collar of it, and she changed it before she came back to the dorm. I didn’t even think about it, so I didn’t tell her to do that. But she did. She changed her shirt.”

Steve could see the wheels working inside Bucky’s head, how he was digging himself deeper and deeper in the guilt the more he thought about it.

“Bucky…”

“I thought it was strange at first,” Bucky interrupted, not wanting to hear Steve’s apologetic words to try and make anything better. “You know, how she caught that and changed. But I didn’t wanna think about it. I didn’t wanna think that she knew to do that because it wasn’t the first time she’d had to hide something like that.” 

Steve sighed. He understood exactly how Bucky was feeling. They had both tried to justify everything for the sake of redemption and revenge, and any signs proving the opposite of their agenda they had turned a blind eye to. And now they had lost that comfort. 

“We couldn’t have known, Buck.” 

Bucky gave a saddened scoff at the notion. 

“We couldn’t have known any of it, Steve. Either one way or the other. We didn’t know he hurt her, just as much as we didn’t know if she meant to kill him. But we chose to believe that she did, and acted based on that. We should have known better.” 

Bucky ran his hands over his face and through his hair, pressing hard just to ground himself and not let anger and shame take over. And Steve had to stop trying to protect him from reality, stop trying to make the situation something it wasn’t. 

“Yeah, we should have,” Steve agreed. “But we can’t take it back, no matter how much we wish we could. And wallowing in it is not gonna help her.”

“How the fuck are we supposed to help her, Steve? What, take her back to see Banner and see if she needs any more medical attention after what we did? Force her to go through another check-up? She was bleeding, Steve. We tore her up, we beat her and we tasered her and we…” Bucky’s voice started to break, turning weak and shallow. “We raped her, Stevie.” 

Steve felt the sting of budding tears in his eyes as Bucky went on. It was tough to hear not only the truth being spoken so bluntly, but the tone of Bucky’s voice showed just how broken he was too, how much he was hurting inside after what he had done. What they had both done. 

“I can’t believe we didn’t see it all sooner,” Steve said, jumping on the bandwagon of self-pity and shame. “She was so scared, even from the get-go. She hasn’t called me anything besides officer or sir, and when she tried to, I…” Steve cut himself short at the memory of your hurt wails and whimpers when he threatened you for using his name, making you say you were sorry.

They let the silence speak for a moment. It was so loud they wanted to break it, but couldn’t find the words to do so. Instead they were forced to relive the terrible incident in their heads, seeing everything play out with fresh eyes. Eyes that knew the truth and shamed them for what they had done. 

“I never thought I could ever rape a woman,” Steve said, almost to himself. 

Bucky looked up, finding Steve looking off into the distance, lost in thought. 

“Me neither,” Bucky said honestly. “Never thought I could bring myself to hurt someone like that. No one deserves to get raped.” 

“No,” Steve said and finally looked at Bucky. “We hurt her. We broke someone who was already broken. And we justified it.” 

Silence lingered for a moment, before a scoff which held no amusement was heard form Steve. 

“We’re far from the men we once were, aren’t we?” 

The term ‘from hero to zero’ had never felt more fitting. They had literally gone from heroes saving lives and protecting people from harm, to the scum of the earth. Their entire view of the world had changed in its very core, and them with it. 

Not only had they hurt you beyond redemption, grinded you down until there wasn’t much left, which in its own was enough. But they had defended and protected the memory of a rapist, a sadist and a monster. They had acted in his honor, defended his name. To you, of all people. And never once had they listened to you, seen you for who you were. Had they not been so busy spurring each other on, course correcting each other whenever they started to doubt, this never would have happened. They wouldn’t be sitting here, in silence, elbow deep in rightful guilt and shame, living with the memory of their deeds. And you wouldn’t be hurt. You wouldn’t be so terrified. You wouldn’t be broken. 

O.o.O.o.O

The night had passed with panic and fear. The remainder of the sedative had done nothing to quell your nerves or thoughts, only tiring out your body enough for exhaustion to hit somewhere in the middle of things. You had slept only when your body couldn’t take the trembles, or the racing of your heart anymore, and decided to shut down. It wasn’t a restful sleep by any means. 

The officers had passed through a few times during the night, but they always passed, never lingered. Despite the routine of it, you never found yourself _not_ tensing up in their presence, still expecting the worst. You pretended to be asleep whenever they walked through, feeling it was the safest bet. It seemed to work well enough and they left you alone, thankfully. The strain and tautness only aided in the race for sleep, tiring you out even faster, until you eventually slept for real. 

You were awakened by the voice of CO Wilson coming through the speakers, startling you back to reality as he went over the daily schedule. People groaned around you, and yawns were heard throughout. The pain had come back to your wrist and lower parts when the morphine had left your system in the night, and you stirred uncomfortably in your bed. Grease Hair, who just happened to pass by your cube when you did, snorted scornfully at you. 

“Rough night with your boyfriends?” she asked mockingly, and walked on before you could say a word to her. 

Dread grew in your chest. Everyone was already set on you having relations with the guards, and their actions the other day didn’t exactly make anyone less sure of that. Tricia wasn’t the only one to think those things, even if she was the one to say them out loud. The prison held over two hundred inmates, and not one of those inmates took snitching or fornicating with an officer lightly. Hopefully there were at least some who thought it was all made up, just rumors passed on by jealousy for whatever shallow reason, but there was no telling. You couldn’t trust anyone to be on your side. 

You hated that people thought you were sleeping with officer Rogers and Barnes, or whoever more they might have you pegged with. You were being teased and harassed, and for what? For being raped, for being tricked into taking a treat that wasn’t fairly given. The inmates wanted to hurt you, for already being hurt by the officers. But in their eyes, it was all fluff, all consensual, all a deliberate move to get things, and make your time at Litchfield easier to live through with the touch of a man or two. But their touch only hurt. In all ways. 

You reluctantly got out of bed, figuring you were already awake and sleep was doubtful to find you again. Especially with the pain being back and calling out for attention. It hurt all over, and your muscles were all tensed up from being on the lookout, from being afraid. Afraid of what the officers might do to you, and _for_ you. What the end goal was, you didn’t know. What kind of game they were playing, you didn’t know. And the rules of the game were all scrambled up. First they hurt you, threaten you, rape you… Then apologize, say they won’t hurt you again, but that you should you forget all about it. First you get in trouble for the officer making you late, the next time it’s no problem. Why? What did they expect of you? 

It used to be so simple with Nate. If you messed up, you got punished. The guards did that too. If you were aided in anyway, you should show gratitude, but the officers didn’t want that. Both men had shot down your proposition to thank them. So, all falls in line at one point, but not the other, and you had no way of knowing which points. 

Was that what they wanted? To watch you struggle to figure it all out? To have you learn by trial and error, as long as they got to punish you and make you fall back in line again? Did they not want something that was freely given? Maybe they didn’t like how subservient you were with so little effort. They probably wanted to be the ones to grind you down to the bone, but it took so little for you to get there. Perhaps that disappointed them…

You feared mostly that it was just the calm before yet another storm. That it was just a ruse, a show put on in order to get your guard down again so they could break through your wall, and you to never be able to build it back up.

The story had too many endings, you didn’t know which one to aim for. 

You had dared a trip to the bathroom, shuffling along the corridors and looking as scared as a hunted rabbit on an open field. It had earned you only a few shoves and shoulder-checks. You had anticipated more, expected worse but it was mostly left at that. A few mumbled ‘snitch’ or ‘slut’, but no one got up in your face or threatened you. You hurried through the process, getting out of there before the bruises already painted on your body would bloom again, or your wrist would be the victim of another scolding. It had survived so far.

Dropping off your things in your bunk, locking them all safely in your locker, you went to change your clothes. This time you had more to cover than what would inhabit your body forever. But with a lot of pulling and twisting, you managed to get clean clothes on, and everything tucked away safely from wandering eyes. You spared yourself the eyeful you were bound to get if you looked. You already felt the ache of it all, you didn’t need to see it too. 

You bulked up your hoodie to cover the back of your neck, in case the bruises left there would show, and started for the cafeteria. Walking took its toll and its time, and you hoped that most inmates ad already gotten their trays, and maybe even started leaving. The less people, the better. 

Eating breakfast was not an easy task. You were given food, something you thanked them very much for, but finding a seat proved to be a challenge. Not as many people had left as you had hoped. You had to locate a seat far away from anyone already at the table, and even when you did, the others got up and walked away. They made sure to walk into you as they passed, spilling some water or food on your sleeve for good measure. It could be worse though. It could always be worse. 

Officer Wilson paced the cafeteria during breakfast, keeping an extra eye out for you, and made sure nothing escalated. He saw the shoves and pushes, but it was too small an infraction for him to do anything about. He kept close, knowing none of the inmates would dare to do anything with him nearby. It seemed to work well enough, seeing nothing more was ‘spilled’ on you or anyone ‘accidentally’ walked into you. And you seemed to be none the wiser of his supervision. 

After breakfast was done, no more incidents going down for which you were thankful, you obediently went to stand in the pill-line to get your meds. Your body was shaking, the pain was taking its toll on both mind and body alike, and you looked forward to some rest for at least one part. You were shoved forward by the inmate behind you anytime the one ahead even began to take a step. More than once you stumbled into her, excusing yourself, only to be met by a vile glance from both sides. And to make matters worse, the one behind you always managed to hit precisely where you had some deep bruises. The meds couldn’t come quick enough. 

“Next,” was shouted from behind the glass window, and you stepped up. 

“Uhm… Je—” you started, and the nurse looked up to you when you appeared. 

“Ah, Harper,” Bruce said with a bright smile, and immediately nodded to your arm. “How’s the wrist?”

He turned to his side to pick up the little cup containing your pills, crossing something off a list. 

“Oh, uhm… It’s alright, sir. Thank you.” 

You forced a smile on your face when he looked back at you, feigning whatever health signs he wished to see. He was almost beaming at the sight of you. 

“Well, you certainly look better,” he said, and held out the cup for you to take. “Your color’s come back too. You shouldn’t have too much problem with any overwhelming pain, not with a steady supply of painkillers, but I hope you’ll tell me if you do.” 

You could tell he was speaking from a kind place, and was honestly worried about you not asking for any help should you need it. Afterall, you had been walking around with a broken wrist for several days, and even when given help, you still proceeded not to complain. 

You took the cup with a tight smile, keeping the façade you knew so well. 

“Will do. Thank you, sir.”

Bruce smiled back at you warmly, not hearing the tightness of your voice. 

“You’re welcome. Take them here, so I know you’ve taken them.” 

He really didn’t think you would ease your own pain even when given the chance. But you did as he asked, and swallowed the pills down with a small drink of water and showed him your empty mouth. That earned you a relieved smile. 

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll see you in the afternoon.” 

You nodded at him politely, and left before any of the inmates could push you away. 

You kept in your cube for most of the day, snatching up a book from the library on your way back to have something to occupy your mind, or maybe just hide behind. You were supposed to be working, but you felt you had enough physical reason not to attend for at least a couple of days, not to mention the mental and emotional ones. The book didn’t do anything for your mind. The words were all scrambled, and you had spent at least half an hour trying to read the same sentence. But you kept going. Trying to read, even if it was the same sentence, was better than to let your mind start racing with questions you didn’t know the answer to. Answers you feared. Answers only the officers could give, but wouldn’t. So, you kept reading that one sentence, over and over and over again, trying to make out any words in it, just making time go by.

Lunch passed in the same manner as breakfast. There was shoving, pushing, bad names mumbled to you whenever they got the chance without an officer hearing it, and someone even tripped you up. Thankfully everything stayed on your tray, but the stumble sent a shot of pain through your core, enough to almost make your knees buckle. 

“Hey! Watch it!” someone yelled when you almost fell on her. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you squealed, and backed away before she could push you away, holding back the whimper that wanted to escape. 

CO Wilson spotted you tripping from where he stood by the doors, and started zigzagging through the tables to slowly work his way up to you. He didn’t try to speak to you, knowing the rumors going around of your relations with the guards, he didn’t want to add any fuel to the already lit fire. He just stayed close enough that should anyone try anything, they wouldn’t get away with it. 

He couldn’t help the growing sadness for your situation. Not only had you gone through what you had with Nate Millers, you were wrongly convicted for murder, he was sure of it, and you had every single inmate in the prison gunning for you. You just couldn’t catch a break it would seem. So, he would do what he could to keep things from getting any worse for you.

Eventually you found an empty seat at the golden girls’ table, and they didn’t seem to mind. They didn’t say anything to you, but that was most likely due to the fact that you looked like you’d invert on yourself should anyone even try to. You rushed through the meal to have it over and done with so you could go back to your cube. So far, no one had bothered you there. Everyone had their job assignments they needed to work on, which meant some downtime from harassment, and you were not about to let it pass.

Once back in your cube, where you sat perched on top of your pillow for some soft cushion and hiding behind a book, time seemed to pass more quickly, and you did not like it. It seemed to be doing it on purpose too. The more you worried, the faster the minutes ticked by mockingly loud. You weren’t sure if officer Rogers and Barnes worked the nightshift tonight as well, or if they had the day off, but you doubted your luck. They seemed to be living in this place. 

What would happen once they got here? Would it be another show of the polite and helpful officers, or would they go back to their torturous way and hurt you again? At least when they did that you knew what to expect. You didn’t know what to do around them when they weren’t intimidating you, or hurting you, or ordering you around. It was much simpler when they did. At least it was a portrayal of the truth, and not some made up front which only upped the rage of the other inmates. At least when the officers weren’t kind to you, no one accused you of having a relationship with them. No one else was trying to get you. 

Inmates started to flood back into the dorm. Their day was over, or at least closing in on being over, so they spent the last hour or so before dinner either in the rec room or in the dorm. With you. Most of them gave you dirty looks when passing your cube, some giving the finger just to add to the ambiance. 

One inmate, the first of many you guessed, walked up to the doorway of your cube. She was a scrawny looking thing, about 5’2 and maybe 100lbs, if you were being kind. Her long hair was dark and unkempt, hanging in greasy lines around her face, the rest hidden underneath her hoodie. Just overall, the posterchild for hillbillies. 

“Sup?” she said, and once she started talking, you noticed she had the same snaggly, dirty teeth as Grease Hair did. Another meth-head then.

You looked up and over at her, your grip tightening on the cover of your book, should you need it for anything other than reading. But she just stood there, clapping her hands together from time to time, letting them hang in between. She looked restless. 

“Hi?” you said, the uncertainty clear as day. 

She nodded her head back in acknowledgement. 

“So, uh… I heard you’re the little mouse livin’ in the COs’ pocket,” she slurred, raising her eyebrows expectantly. 

“I… I don’t know what that means,” you said slowly, trying to figure out what the hell this person was talking about. 

She gave some sort of half-snort, taking another step inside. You pressed back against the wall. Was this a threat?

“Oh, no?” she said. “Cause, see, I heard that you’ve been bangin’ a few of the guards, and gettin’ treats for it too.” 

Great, another one of _those_. Was this just the start of a new Tricia-incident? She looked rule-y enough. And by the look of the growing crowd, she was a leader in some other crew. Even Grease Hair was standing in the crowd.

“Well, you heard wrong,” you said, with more fire than you meant to, toning it back a bit before speaking again. “And w-who are you?” 

“Doggett,” she said. “My friends call me Penn, short for Pennsatucky. But you ain’t my friend, so it’s Doggett to you.” 

She didn’t seem very threatening when she spoke, her tone was too bright and light. But she did seem quite weird so you wouldn’t put it past her to do something. 

“Uhm…” you started, trying to find any words that would make sense in the situation. “Okay, Doggett. I don’t know exactly what you’ve heard, uhm, about… me, but none of it’s true. I-I’m not… doing anything with the guards, I promise.”

You hoped it was enough to convince her, but it was basically your word against everyone else’s, and yours held little credibility. 

She scoffed at your explanation. 

“Nah, nah, see, I know you’re lyin’, okay?” she said and, strangely enough, smiled. “Cause my friends saw you gettin’ all handsy with the blond Greek god of a CO, and… he gave you chocolate. Now, I don’ know about you, but in my eyes, that looks an awful lot like someone’s suckin’ dick for treats.” 

Everything always came back to favors and treats with these inmates, which you gathered was what got everyone in such a frenzy. An inmate getting favors done for her was dangerous for the others, who might find themselves getting unfairly harsh treatments or the likes, should they cross said inmate. Like Tricia. It was basically like having a guard on a leash in their eyes. So, of course, they opted for the chance of catching that said inmate, you, when there weren’t any officers around to intervene. An eye for an eye so to speak. And it didn’t seem to matter how much you tried to convince anyone of your innocence in the matter. 

You swallowed hard, feeling the tension rising in the room. The other inmates, you figured it was the friends she had mentioned, started closing in outside your cube. 

“Look, uh, Doggett,” you said with a somewhat shaky voice. “I really don’t know what to say, except for that it’s not true. I’m—I’m not getting any favors. From anyone. I-I know it might look like I am, to you, but I’m really, really not. I don’t want any trouble, or… anything.”

She stepped even closer, still smiling at you. You pushed back even further, turning to cover your body the best you could without outright preparing for a beatdown. 

“Oh, cause, see,” she said and scoffed, still smiling away like the Joker. “That’s not what I’ve heard, sweet cheeks. And, uh… I’m leanin’ more towards listenin’ to what my friends have to say… than you. Okay? And I don’t know about you, but it sure doesn’t seem fair to me that you should get all the nice little trinkets and treats for yourself, when, let’s say, Tricia, is in the SHU because of you. So… I think… it’s only fair that you share.” 

What? That didn’t make any sense whatsoever. You weren’t even sure this person was a friend of Tricia’s, you’d never seen them together or looking very friendly towards each other. This Pennsatucky Doggett person was crazy. 

“B-but I don’t… have anything to share,” you said, looking both to her and the other inmates still standing outside your cube. “Honest, I don’t.”

“Oh, no?” she said and looked back to her crew for a moment, before turning back to you. “So, you just cozied on up with the COs, and didn’t get nothin’ for it, is that it? Cause… That don’t sound very likely to me. Unless the cozying is what you got for somethin’ else.”

“What?”

She took a step closer, almost leaning over you. Her smile had morphed into something harder, and how a tiny little thing like her could look intimidating was beyond you, but she managed. 

“You sellin’ us out? Hmm?”

“What? No—”

“Then what? You’re acting all sweet like a piece of candy with the COs,” she went on, even when you tried to defend yourself. “Ain’t nobody sweet in here except for a reason. I guess suckin’ dick is a little easier than honest hard work, huh?” 

There was a resounding echo of ‘yeah’ coming from the other inmates watching, itching to get you all riled up it would seem. It only managed to get you more freaked out. 

“I’m—I’m not doing anything with the guards,” you said in your very weak defense, voice trembling when you tried to sound assertive. “I’m not getting anything f-from any guard, okay? W-what happened with Tricia was not my fault, I-I didn’t ask the officers to do that, alright? I swear.” 

“Oh, so, now we should all just believe you, right?” Doggett pushed, scoffing and smiling away. “We should just believe that it’s all one big coincidence, hmm? Tricia got dragged away to SHU by a CO, and he didn’t look all that friendly towards her, no, ma’am.” 

There seemed to be nothing you could even begin to try and clear your case with. No one listened when you spoke, no one wanted to hear what you had to say. To hear the truth. 

Everyone around you looked pissed. There were scowls and mean lip biting going around with each and every one of Doggett’s friends. They weren’t interested in hearing any explanation. They wanted to hurt you. If it wasn’t the officers, it was the inmates. When it wasn’t the inmates, it was the officers. No matter what, you got hurt. 

“Look, please,” you started, and moved so you didn’t look as frightened as you were. “I know officer Barnes went hard on Tricia, I do! But remember when they trashed my bunk? When-when I got tackled to the ground and thrown in SHU, too?” 

You really didn’t want to reminisce on that. The way Steve had thrown you on the ground, the cut of the cuffs around your wrists. Or how he pushed you down the stairs… But it seemed to get everyone’s attention. Their scowls started going away, but the irritation stayed. They looked between each other and you, so you kept on trying to reason with them, trying to keep the panic of the memories from rising. 

“The COs were just as h-hard on me, as-as they were with her, right? They-they didn’t go easy on me either, right?” 

Flashes of pain appeared like lightning in your mind at the mention. Their hands, their unforgiving grip on your arms, your neck, your hips. How they had grabbed at you, merciless in their eagerness to feel your skin. Your walls clenched at nothing, tried to evade nothing, as the memory of them forcing their way into you crashed like thunder. Flares of fire erupted through your core, watering your eyes at the suddenness and power of it. It felt like an upcoming panic attack… 

Despite you now looking like you had just seen a ghost or demon of your past, the inmates around still scoffed or mumbled lowly, not really caring if it interrupted you or not. But Doggett seized your silence. 

“Maybe you just like it rough?” she mocked, and her horrible words brought you back to the present. 

“Yeah,” the others around chimed in, liking that take on the situation better. 

“Maybe you wanted ‘em to do that to you?”

You could hear her, understood what she said, but her words were just bringing it all closer again. You could feel the trace of their fingers, leaving long gashes of crimson in their wake as they travel along your skin, like they were cutting you open. 

“N-no…” you whispered, but whether it was to the person in front of you, or the horror inside was unclear. 

But Doggett took it as an answer. 

“Okay, then maybe… It’s all one big act, to make it seem like you ain’t gettin’ anythin’ from ‘em, when in reality… you are. You’re gettin’ all the nice treats, and touches and all. Maybe even something to numb all that pain they put you through. Huh?”

Touches, treats, pain. You could almost not hear anything else. You tried to burry everything, tried to push it all down and not have it flash in your mind anymore. But everyone was talking about the officers, about you and what they had done to you, there was no escaping it. They were mocking you, threatening you, and making up lies of what had really taken place. They didn’t know you didn’t want it, they didn’t know that you fought back, that you begged them not to do it. They didn’t know. And they didn’t want to know. 

You had retreated back into yourself, letting her talk at you however she pleased. You’d had some fire at first, you had! It had been there! But there was no use. Fighting back, no matter what opponent, only made everything worse. It only made everyone mad at you, yelling at you and threatening to hurt you even more. There was no escape. Not from any of it. 

Pennsatucky just stood there, looking down at you and smiling. She just needed to break through that shell, and you would share the goodness you were bound to have. Pornstache’s little side business was well-known among the inmates, and he couldn’t be the only one giving out pills and whatnot for a few minutes of pleasure. 

“What they givin’ you, hmm?” she pushed, speaking lower than before. “Some zing? Crank? Smack? Maybe some blow for blow, huh?” 

She laughed at her own joke, looking back to make sure her followers did as well. 

The mentioning of drugs was new. New enough to hold back everything else that had piled on as she spoke about what the officers used you for, at least for a moment’s time. They were all convinced that you had drugs on you now, that the officers were brining it in for you. If that was the case, why didn’t they just ask for it themselves, instead of pestering you? Maybe Steve and Bucky weren’t the only ones enjoying your misfortune and pain? It seemed to be a reoccurring theme in your life after all. There must be something about you that was kindness and care repellant, because you never seemed to get any of it. Something so utterly annoying that everyone just wanted to crush you. Your mere presence was a hardship for everyone else. So, maybe you could offer them something in return for their hard endeavors? 

“I got some morphine…” 

The others started shuffling at the mention of the drug, itching to get their hands on it, Doggett even shuffling from one foot to the other when she heard it. No one seemed to hear or care for the hollowness of your voice. The empty tone that carried it. 

“I get it in the pill line though, so… I don’t have any on me.” 

You hoped it would be enough, that it would be payment enough for the struggle of them being near you. They probably didn’t want anything to do with you. Why would they? You weren’t worth anything. Worthless. Shameful. Your fault. 

Doggett just grinned, not caring one bit for your dejected state.

“But you’re gonna get some tonight, though, right?” 

Her smile was back, dirtied teeth showing as she grinned down at you. 

“Yeah…” 

“Okay, then,” she said, and cleared her throat, too eager to find her words. “You just, uh… cheek ‘em, and bring ‘em to me, alright?”

“Okay…” 

“Good, good, good,” she said and nodded for everyone to leave the cube again, and slowly followed behind. “I’ll see ya later then, Harper. And, and, it’s Pennsatucky for you now.” 

She said it all through a smile, giggling to herself before rounding the corner and disappearing with the rest of the inmates, unknowingly leaving you to your demise.

Great. 

You made a friend.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky share some thoughts...
> 
> Jess learns a bit about what's on the news...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Speaking of BDSM, PTSD and depression.

Sleep had done little to either one of the men in the case of forgiveness versus guilt. If it wasn’t for the aid of over-the-counter sleeping pills, neither one would have gotten any shuteye. Last night’s events, well, this night’s events, were still very present in their minds. They didn’t know which part ranked highest on the list of occupying thoughts, it all kind of muddled together. 

Bucky knew he shouldn’t have searched for any of the videos or news regarding you, but he just couldn’t help it. He still had an hour or so before they needed to head to work, and he just couldn’t resist the temptation. Before long, he found himself several clips deep, fighting to hold back the anger. So far, he had seen Nate beat the shit out of you twice, his friends joining in once, and glimpses of a rape in the latest video. You looked quite young in a few, still in your teen years, which meant that the abusive relationship had lasted for several years and not just a short period of time. Not that it would be any better if that was the case, but still. 

He had shut off his computer after seeing that last part, and gone outside to have a go at the punching bag they had hanging from a tree out in the garden. He was pounding away, punching the anger out with each hit. Minute after minute of punching left him breathless and sore, but he still wouldn’t cave. He had to get it all out. He had to tire his body and mind out enough so the guilt would stop. But no matter how hard, or how much he hit that sandbag, his shame wasn’t lessened. 

Steve came walking out into the yard, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt which seemed to be one size too small, clinging to his body like it was painted on. Bucky had shorts on, having already discarded his shirt inside, knowing it would just get sticky with sweat. The sun was beaming down on him, joining in the efforts of slicking his skin in salty pearls running down his chest and abs, bumping along the muscle and glistening in the light. 

Bucky saw Steve approaching, but didn’t stop his defenseless fighting, exhaling loudly with each punch. Steve stopped not to far away from him, hands deep in his pockets as he just watched on. 

“Unruly mind?” he asked, which was answered firstly by a loud huff. 

“Could say that,” Bucky said breathlessly, but still wouldn’t give in. 

Steve nodded at him, not expecting him to drop any time soon. 

“You watched some clips too, I take it?” he asked in a somber tone, and Bucky perked an eyebrow at him. Of course, he wasn’t alone in his curiosity. 

“A few,” he grunted, and gave a particular harsh punch. 

Steve waited a beat, letting Bucky work out his frustration on the bag, lest risk it all being verbally directed at him. But when Bucky still wouldn’t stop, even when his punches started becoming erratic, unprecise and too quick for any accuracy, Steve stepped in between and grabbed the bag. 

“Hey, stop, stop,” he said with a hand up, and Bucky backed off. 

He still looked heated. He was shaking out his hands, kicking his feet about and breathing like he’d just ran a marathon. And that should not be the case for him after only a few minutes with a punching bag, no matter how hard the hits. 

“Calm down,” Steve said in a low voice, trying not to sound too demeaning. 

“Calm down?” Bucky mimicked, finding any offence he could. “How the fuck am I supposed to calm down, Steve? Huh?” 

Steve didn’t say anything in response. He just waited for Bucky to get ahold of himself again, watching him pace back and forth, trying to reel himself in again. He managed it after a minute or so, and eventually stopped pacing. 

“Okay,” he said, both to himself and Steve, as if to give the go-ahead for a lecture, which Steve was a master at. 

Steve hadn’t come out to give Bucky a lecture though. He had come out just to be there, to find comfort for himself too, and not be so alone with what he was feeling. They were both going through the same thing, they were in this together so they might as well stick it out together. 

Bucky started undoing the wrapping protecting his knuckles, drawing deep breaths to calm his racing heart as he spun the elastic around. 

“At least you remembered to wrap your hands,” Steve pointed out, his tone now lighter. 

Bucky raised a brow at his friend, before finding an amused scoff in himself. 

“Imagine that,” he said, and jokingly threw the damp piece of elastic band right at Steve’s chest. 

Steve couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, even letting out a small chuckle. This was their jargon. This was how they worked. It was both domestic and familiar, and therefore, comforting.

Instead of discarding of the damp cloth, he started wrapping the band around his own hand, testing the tightness of it. Bucky threw the other one at him once he was finished unwinding it, and went to stand to the side, hands on his hips as he drew a lungful of air to calm down.

“I tried to find some information on who leaked the footage,” Steve said as he wrapped the other hand. “Couldn’t find anything. Seems to be a mystery.” 

Bucky nodded as he listened. He had wondered the same a few times, and still couldn’t understand how it even went missing in the first place. But there was about fuck-all he could do about it so…

“Give it time,” he said, and kicked a stick away. “I’m sure they will come to some sort of conclusion on the matter.”

Steve perked an eyebrow at his friend. Wasn’t like him to be the reasonable one of the two, yet here they were. He tied off the elastic by his wrist, and tested the tightness of his fist. 

“You seem hopeful,” he said, and threw the first of many punches on the smooth surface. 

“Gotta be, right? What do we have if we ain’t got hope?”

Steve stopped hitting the bag in front of him and looked befuddled at his friend where he stood. Bucky raised a questioning brow. 

“What?” he said. “Isn’t that what they say? Carpe diem and all that shit?” 

Steve couldn’t help but laugh at that, grabbing his chest even. 

“Sure, sure,” he said through his chuckle. “Seize the day, my friend.” 

Bucky knew Steve was mocking him, but laughter started brewing in his chest, and he just had to join in. 

“Jerk,” he said, before nodding to the bag, which hung calm and still. “Come on! You’re gonna hit it, or what?”

Steve just shook his head with a smile, and started hitting the bag, landing hard punches. Both men liked the routine of it all, the familiarity. This wasn’t contaminated by everything that had happened, everything that they had done. Whether they were in a good mood or a bad mood, the bag was there to be punched. It was like having a live-in therapist. 

Bucky waited a beat, letting the slap of Steve’s fist hitting the bag fill the silence for a moment or two, before he spoke. 

“So, uh… Think anything’s changed now? I mean, after the apology and… whatnot.” 

Steve quirked an eyebrow at him, and jerked his head sideways, but he didn’t stop his hits from still meeting the leather. 

“Who knows?” he grunted. “I mean, the trust is pretty much shot, I doubt that’s gonna change. But… maybe she’ll be more comfortable around us? I don’t know.” 

Even though he said it, Steve doubted any of it. How were you supposed to be comfortable around the men that hurt you so badly? It probably didn’t matter that they had said they were sorry. Break a plate and apologize, but that won’t put the plate back together. But he wanted to hope that it helped at least. 

Bucky nodded slowly, still watching Steve. 

“Yeah, maybe,” he said, but he didn’t sound as hopeful as before. “I never thought it was gonna end up like this.” 

Steve stopped what he was doing, huffing and puffing with a few beads of sweat crowning his forehead. 

“What was?” 

“Our little… sexcapade,” he said through a snort. “You know, trying out the waters of that dom/sub thing. Never thought we’d both be so blind and not see what the fuck we were actually doing.” 

It hurt to know that they had been so stupid and so delusional to the whole thing. They had wanted to try it out for quite some time, to really dominate someone, to take charge and maybe do a little hurting. To have someone be so utterly defenseless and submissive that she would just have to take what they were giving. But this was not that. The pain was supposed to heighten the pleasure. It was supposed to be playful in its seriousness. It was supposed to be a moment of control, the power of pleasure and pain, and the balance of the two. 

But anger, hate and eagerness had seized their minds, and morphed what really happened into their fantasy. Placed all the pieces so it resembled domination, and not rape. They had let their want mix with their need for justification for Nate, and twisted and turned everything until all the pieces fit in the puzzle. And your participation was simply demanded. 

Steve sighed, deeply lost in what he was trying to hide from but couldn’t. How he had enjoyed certain parts, relished in them even, but was utterly disgusted by others. How could he say that out loud? That he simply whished it was consensual, but that the rest was welcomed. Would Bucky feel the same? Or would he think Steve was sick for feeling like that? Only one way to find out. 

“Really should be something you discuss with a partner first, shouldn’t it?” he said, and threw a glance at Bucky, who nodded. 

“Yeah. Shouldn’t be something you demand like that, something forced onto her. She should want it too, you know?”

Bucky was wearing his heart on his sleeve saying that, hoping that Steve wouldn’t find him repulsive for not completely hating what had taken place. He hoped Steve would feel the same, at least to some extent. They had discussed it a few times before after all, both sharing fantasies and ideas on the matter. Some which even took part in what they had done, like the cuffs, the manhandling, holding you down like that against the table, completely defenseless. But the tears and screams of terror, of fright, weren’t supposed to be there. At least not under those circumstances. 

Steve nodded slowly, treading carefully. 

“It was kind of a rush, wasn’t it? The power of it. The violence. If you take out all the bad parts. Even though we overdid it…” 

Now it was Bucky’s turn to nod nervously. 

“Yeah, it was,” he said. “Imagine how it would have been had she enjoyed it too.” 

Both stood there, silent. If not for the wind rustling the leaves of the trees, it would be quiet as the grave. The mood was a bit tense, but not entirely. There were elements of apprehension, of doubt and uncertainty mixed in there. 

“I just hate that it wasn’t consensual, you know,” Steve said, finally breaking the silence. “That we hurt her like that, that we… I don’t know. Broke her?” 

Shame got mixed into everything as well, and it damn well should. Neither really wanted to escape it. They wanted to feel bad for what they had done. It was a relief to know that they weren’t _that_ kind of monsters, that they would make sure that it never happened again. With anyone. That they might enjoy domination, but not rape. 

“Me too,” Bucky said with a deep sigh. “But what’s done is done, there’s nothing we can do about it now. We can’t take it back, we can’t undo anything. We can only look out for her, help her in any way she needs, and, who knows… she might be alright in the end. After everything blows through.” 

“You really think that?” Steve asked, liking what Bucky had said, but severally doubted it all. 

“No,” Bucky said as a-matter-of-factly. “But what do we have if we ain’t got hope, right?” 

Repeating the sentence was a way of tricking his mind into believing it. He really wanted you to be okay, he really wanted everything to be okay. As did Steve, who smiled back at him, before he started pounding the bag once again. 

After they had both cleaned up and gotten dressed for work, and ate some very delayed breakfast, they headed off to work. It was a nice day out, and the next one should be too, so they opted for their bikes in the fresh air. Whenever the opportunity presented itself, they were quick to take it. The ride to work wasn’t far, one of the upsides of living on prison grounds. 

They parked in their places, which just happened to be next to Luscheck’s parking space, and the contrast of their bikes was stark. Luscheck’s bike was a loud red, all plastic and sport-like, whereas theirs were a shiny metallic against a sleek and clean black, made for style and power. It really looked like a toy next to theirs, which kind of pissed of Luscheck whenever he saw it. And neither Bucky nor Steve were going to lie and say they didn’t enjoy his jealousy. 

They went through security where their fellow colleague patted them both down, then went to the staffroom to put away their lunches in the fridge. They hung off their jackets, and grabbed their belts and radios from the shelf, and headed out to start their day. Or evening as it was already late afternoon. 

But they didn’t get too far, before they met Caputo who had only just left the confines of his office. He perked up when he saw the two officers. 

“Ah, Barnes, Rogers,” he said, and all three stopped in the middle of the tight corridor. 

“Mr. Caputo,” Bucky said with a nod of his head, and Steve did the same. 

“Glad I caught you,” Joe said and looked around, but the corridor was vacant. “I just got off the phone with Harper’s lawyer. Turns out a game of phone tag has been the issue here,” he said with a chuckle, before turning serious. “Any ways, he needs to speak with her immediately and let her know what’s going down. Could-could you please send her to my office, and I’ll… I don’t know, prepare her maybe?”

Bucky nodded just as Steve opened his mouth. 

“Of course. I’ll get her right away.” 

“Thank you, Steve,” Joe said and place a grateful hand on his arm, patting it once. “I’ll be… yeah, I’ll be in my office,” he said with a nervous scoff, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. 

Joe turned on his heel and headed back towards his officer, and Steve and Bucky headed to more densely populated areas. Bucky deviated towards the cafeteria, seeing as dinner was approaching, and Steve headed for the dorm, taking a fair guess of your whereabouts. You hadn’t really been anywhere else if you could help it. 

He found you in your cube, sitting on top of your bed with your knees up and arms wrapped around them in a comforting embrace. You looked pale, and kind of out of it. Your gaze was dark but vacant, and deep lines had worried between your brows. Just like he had gotten used to seeing you. And he hated what he saw, hated himself for making you this way. 

You saw a figure move into your line of vision, and visibly flinched. A gasp ran from your mouth at the realization of who it was, and you subconsciously pressed back harder against the wall. Officer Rogers was stood just outside your cube. His hands were on his belt, looking more menacingly than he meant to. When he saw what your eyes kept darting down to, he immediately let go. But the memory of the taser still caused a shiver to run down your spine. 

He cleared his throat, running an anxious hand through his hair. 

“Mr. Caputo wants to see you in his office,” he said. 

The expression on your face must have been something of a mixture between utter worry and confusion, if Steve’s reaction was anything to go by. He looked awkwardly around for a quick moment, not wanting the encounter to seem like something it wasn’t, but he still wanted to reassure you. 

“You’re not in trouble,” he said, with a small smile on his face. 

You couldn’t understand why the… vice warden? wanted to see you. You didn’t even know what title he had, or what his job entailed, but you knew he was one of the higher-ups in the prison administration. 

It couldn’t be about what happened with CO Rogers and Barnes, not if Steve was calmly coming to get you. Could it be about rumors? Nothing to explicit, cause then again, the guards would be in trouble as well. Unless it was nameless rumors of course, and no officer’s name had been mentioned. Or maybe he wanted to grill you on the events of your broken wrist? The options were endless. 

You slowly moved to the end of the bed, awkwardly standing up and trying not to cause yourself too much pain in the process. You stood there for a second or two, just looking at the officer. Your gaze jumped to his once, before quickly darting back down again. 

“O-okay, sir,” you said, and started walking. 

Steve stepped back to allow you to move in front of him. He walked with you, keeping a respectable distance as to not cause any misconstrued assumptions, but close enough that it was still clear you were following an order. 

The officer’s tall and proud stature was a sheer contrast to your own scrunched up shoulders and fragile looking state. His feet moved with determination, whereas yours merely shuffled along the floor to get where you needed to go, following someone else’s order. You hated how small you felt next to him, how clear the threat of his body was. You remembered how it felt when he held you trapped against his body, unrelenting and unmoving, no matter how much you thrashed around. You weren’t a match for him. At all. 

When you reached Mr. Caputo’s office, Steve knocked twice on the wood of the ajar door, before stepping in and allowing you to follow suit. He planted himself at the entrance, guarding, as was his job. You took a nervous step inside, making sure to keep away from the officer out of respect. You didn’t want to know what he would do to you should you not give him the respect he deserved. Especially in front of his superior. 

Joe had looked up from his desk when he heard the knock, and stood up to greet you both. 

“Ah, Harper,” he said and pointed a hand at a chair before his desk. “Please, take a seat.” 

An uncertain lump of dread had wedged itself in your throat, and your heart was doing tumbles in your chest. What was this all about? Why had you been called into his office? Surely if there was anything small, you would be in your counselor’s office, Mr. Healy’s, but you weren’t. 

Joe gave Steve a warm smile and a nod for bringing you, which he returned in kind. Caputo cleared his throat as he sat back down, shuffling papers around. 

You sat timidly in your chair, hands together between your knees. You wanted to press them together, for multiple reasons, but the shot of pain running up your arm held you back. So, you opted for the still and quiet option, and waited to hear what Mr. Caputo had to say. 

“I, uh… I just got off the phone with your lawyer, Howard. He’s been trying to get in touch with you, regarding your case.”

You sat still in the chair, just listening to what Mr. Caputo had to say on the matter. You didn’t know what to make of it. Why would you need to talk to your lawyer?

“Oh…” you said, voice low and hushed. “W-well, I don’t have his number, sir.”

“That’s okay, I thought as much,” Joe said, and fished out a note from the sea of papers crowding his desk. “So, I’ve written it down for you. Now, he said he’ll be waiting by the phone until he hears from you.”

He handed the note to you, and you gratefully took it from him. You noticed his gaze bopping down to your incased wrist as you reached for the note. 

“What happened to your arm?” he asked, and pointed down to the cast. 

Steve felt like he just got kicked in the stomach again at the mention. Anything regarding you being hurt seemed to do that to him nowadays. Anything that reminded him what a scumbag he was, and what he had done. But he was right to feel that way. It was all true. 

You looked down at your wrist, forcing a small smile to appear as you spoke. 

“I just fell, sir.” 

Caputo nodded, and ran a hand over his moustache like he usually did when he was unsure of what to do or say. 

“Oh,” was the best he could do for the moment. “Well, prison is a dangerous place for many reasons, am I right?” he said with an unsure snort. 

The familiar sting of tears started burning in your eyes, and your immediately blinked them away. The dangers of prison were far more than you had first anticipated. You had thought you could get by if you just kept to yourself and kept your head down. But instead, you were tortured and threatened by the guards, violently raped, and you had made an enemy of every inmate currently serving time. So, yes. Prison was a dangerous place. 

“Yes, sir.”

Steve noticed the solemn tone of your voice, taking a fair guess as to what you were thinking about. It must be truly horrible for you to be spoken to with such words, unbeknownst to the speaker what pain it caused you to hear the simplicity of the statement. 

“Okay,” Caputo said and broke the growing tension, and Steve straightened his back. 

You still sat there, quietly in the chair with the note safely in your hand. You looked down at it. 

“Uhm… When can I call?” you asked. 

“What?”

“I… My lawyer’s number… It isn’t on my approved call-list, sir.”

Another gut punch for Steve at the reminder of your innocence, your sweetness. Your meekness. Even in a dire situation like this, being called into Mr. Caputo’s office and all, your politeness and following of rules still wouldn’t budge. Most people would have thrown themselves at the nearest phone at the slightest mention of their case, but not you. 

“Oh,” Joe said, with an uncertain chuckle. “That’s okay, we’ll—we’ll make an exception, of course.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

Joe just nodded, not knowing what to say. A moment passed before he spoke, seeing as you weren’t leaving like he thought you would. He raised his eyes and looked over at Steve, where he stood patiently waiting by the door. 

“Officer Rogers will show you to the phones right away.” 

Steve cleared his throat and smiled at Joe, and the side of your head seeing you still hadn’t looked up from the note in your hand. 

“Of course,” he said reassuringly, earning a grateful nod from Joe. 

“Great,” he said, and looked to where you were still sitting. “That’ll be all.” 

Once given the go head, you rose from your seat. It hurt to go from sitting to standing, but you could hide your pain well. Years of practice, and or course the slow lessening of pain, helped greatly. 

“Thank you, sir,” you said, and turned on your heel. 

Steve was still standing by the door, seemingly waiting for you to exit so he could follow. He gave you a short and tight smile, despite you not looking up to face him. The furthest you got was his chin, and that was pushing it. 

Just like before, Steve walked along beside you, following your pace and not hurrying you in any way. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, and you were glad it was nothing but the simple warmth of his body. It still made your stomach churn though. 

You walked through the corridors along with CO Rogers to get to the phones, which were mounted to the wall outside the cafeteria. You had noticed them before, along with the very long line of inmates waiting to use the phone, but that was during phone hours. You suspected that was the reason for Steve presence by your side. That, and the unapproved number you would be calling. 

Steve stopped a few feet away, and you almost stopped with him. But he nodded you along towards the phones with a smile, so you did as he silently asked, with an appreciative nod to him. 

Just as you grabbed the handle of one of the phones, your newfound friend Pennsatucky walked by. She was heading for the cafeteria, which had only just opened for dinner. But the sight of you holding a phone, made her stop in her tracks.

“These aren’t phone hours,” she pointed out cockily, with a matter-of-factly raise of her eyebrows. 

You slowly started putting the phone back as your eyes jumped from her to officer Rogers, not sure what you were looking for. But Steve turned his body towards Doggett, his crossed arms tensing slightly as he did. 

“She’s exempt,” Steve said in a stern voice, and Doggett just raised her hands in defeat and started backing away.

“If you say so, officer.” 

You didn’t miss the telling look she gave you before she turned on her heel and all but skipped into the cafeteria, and you did not like the feel of it. The firmness of Steve’s voice left no room for argument, and you hated that it once again was in your defense. Fuel to the fire. Again. 

You swallowed hard, and gave Steve an asking look. He just nodded, both at you and the phone, telling you it was okay to go ahead. So, you grabbed the phone again, and dialed the number scribbled down on the note. You anxiously listened to the steady beeping, and then a recording played; _an inmate from Litchfield federal prison is attempting to contact you. To accept this call, please press ‘one’._ There was a click heard from the other line, and then the familiar voice of your lawyer Howard. 

“Hello?” he asked, his voice hurried and tense. 

“Hi, it’s Jess Harper. I-I was told you wanted to talk to me.” 

“Oh, Jess,” he said, now sounding relieved. “So glad I finally got ahold of you. Yes, yes, I have some information regarding… well, you.”

You listened carefully, your heart now starting to increase its steady beat. His voice was sharper, more unsure than you had ever heard him, and it was not a comforting thought. He went on. 

“I hate to be blunt, but I know you said that there was evidence of what Nate had done to you, that he sometimes… filmed what he did? Well, that evidence has been found.”

You turned your body to hide from the scrutiny of anyone’s gaze, your chocked expression probably being quite the showstopper. Not too much though, you didn’t want to give the officer the cold shoulder and risk being reprimanded. 

“What…?” 

You didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified of what he would say next, and in your mind a million different questions needed answering. 

Steve stood silently by, looking from your turned form and to the people around who all gave your turned away face the side-eye, acting like a blockade between you and them. And by the sound of your voice, fearful and uncertain, you must have just gotten the news. He swallowed his own worry, and waited. 

“Yes, it… Some of the footage has been anonymously leaked to the media.” 

Oh, no. The media? Meaning people have seen it… Who had seen it, who knew about this? Mr. Caputo obviously did, seeing he was the one who had contacted Howard in the first place. But did Steve and Bucky know? 

Still facing the wall and not the people, you turned your eyes to the side, hoping to catch a glimpse of Steve’s expression in your peripheral. You couldn’t see much. He was still standing there, about eight feet away, arms over his chest and head bent down. Did he know what Howard was telling you? Had he seen any of the footage? 

“W-what…?” 

It was a miracle Howard caught what you said, your voice was barely even a whisper. And the tremble didn’t make it any easier. 

“It leaked a few days ago. Or, yesterday morning, I’m not sure. But I haven’t managed to get in touch with anyone at Litchfield until now to tell you.” 

Photos or videos, or maybe both, had been leaked to the media. Someone had found it, and leaked it. How it even managed to disappear in the first place was still a mystery, and this didn’t make any more sense of it. 

“W-wha… What does that mean?”

You waited for what felt like a lifetime. You could hear Howard sighing on the other end, probably trying to find his words. You rapidly tried to blink away the ocean forming in your eyes, but it was no use, they stayed put, blurring your vision.

“They’re reopening your case,” Howard said finally. 

The tears fell silently, covering not only your cheek, but the handle of the phone as well. You released a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding as you waited for him to answer, and the shake of it was enough to send a tremble through your entire body. You caught yourself against the phone box, the pain in your wrist be damned, and closed your eyes to shut out the world. 

They were going to reopen your case. It was going to be reviewed again. Once again, you would have to go through the speculations, the questions and the disbelief of the truth. You would have to bare them coming down on you with assumptions and theories, anything to clear Nate’s name, and tarnish yours, questioning every minute of that night. And you weren’t sure you could take that again. You weren’t sure you had it in you, or even wanted to. 

Steve saw how you almost crumpled, how you barely managed to bring your wounded hand up to keep yourself upright. Your head was leaned down, your forehead coming to rest against the top of the phone box. He had to hold himself back from going up and hugging you, comforting you. He wanted to help you so bad, to be there for you, seeing no one else was. And that was all his doing. 

“Jess?” Howard asked worriedly. “Jess, you still there?”

Fighting to find your voice again, you swallowed down the tears, swallowed down the scream that desperately wanted to escape, and answered him.

“Yes. Yes, I’m here.”

Your heard him sigh heavily, most likely finding it all troublesome to talk about. You could agree, it wasn’t the most joyous topic to talk about. But you forced yourself to open your eyes again, facing the part of the world that was your home; prison. Even if that was just a wall. 

“Okay,” he said. “What’s gonna happen is we’re gonna get a court date set, and bring it up to trial again. But everyone needs a bit of time to look everything over, to review the newfound evidence and go through all the paperwork from the trial before. I will need to speak with the judge and the counsel for the defense, and until then, you will have to stay in prison.”

It was all mumbling to you, all nonsense you couldn’t comprehend. It all went in one ear, and out the other. He could might as well have been reciting Latin verses to you. Your mind was filled with static, with buzzing mosquitoes all taking on the shape of your memories. Each one carried its own pain, its own fear, its own bloodshed. Like small, flying pieces of glass that made up the image of who you once were. 

Howard took your silence as a sign of worry, and he wasn’t completely wrong. 

“Now, I promise you, I am doing everything in my power to move this along and get you out of there as soon as possible,” he said, and seemed to break through the barrier of your mind. 

“Okay…” you said, even nodding as if to convince yourself. 

It was painful to think about. So many things had changed since your first trial, since you fought for yourself. So many things had been made clear since then, things you didn’t know about before, or simply didn’t want to believe. 

But now you did. Now you knew. You knew that the fear wasn’t locked to Nate. It was all men. You knew that it wasn’t just Nate who wanted to hurt you. It wasn’t just Nate who liked to torture you, liked your pain. It was everyone. You were like a beacon for pain, for hurt. Something so deeply rooted in you, that you just couldn’t help but rub everyone the wrong way by merely existing. It was you. It was your fault. And no matter what any tapes showed, no matter what any pictures showed, or even the scars littering your body, nothing could change the source of it all. You. 

“Okay,” Howard said. “I’ve spoken to a Mr. Caputo at Litchfield, and I will continue to be in contact with him regarding your case, and what will happen. I would speak directly to you, but seeing as I can’t reach you directly when I might need to, I will sort everything out with him. Except for any details of your case or trial, of course, you have my word. That is all confidential. Is that alright with you? Cause if not, we will find another way, Jess. Perhaps you could call me on certain hours?” 

Seeing as you had barely digested anything Howard had said to you, that might be the worst idea ever. Mr. Caputo seemed able enough, and seeing he already had been in contact with your lawyer, he could continue that contact. 

“No,” you said, trying to raise your voice enough to a normal speaking tone. “That will be fine, sir, thank you.” 

Steve looked up when hearing the ‘sir’. You hadn’t said much, and he couldn’t make anything out, or put anything together enough to know what was being said on the other end, but he had a pretty good understanding of it all. And your lawyer was working _for you_ , meaning he should do what you said, not the other way around. But he of all people could understand your politeness, and perhaps the occasion called for that sort of gratitude. But mostly, he just figured you were too deeply set in your ways to know anything else. 

“Alright,” Howard said. “I’ll let Mr. Caputo know should I need to speak with you, and you can call me. And please don’t hesitate to do so, Jess. We will figure this out. We will get you out.”

You nodded, before realizing that wasn’t enough when on the phone, and you had to draw a straining breath through your tight chest to speak.

“Okay. Thank you, sir. For everything.” 

“Of course, Jess. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

“Bye…” 

As if moving in slow motion, you hung up the phone again, your hand heavier than it needed to be. Slowly, you took another breath, and held it for a few seconds before letting it go again, hoping it would take some of the tension with it. It didn’t. 

Instead of giving answers, Howard had given you more questions. Questions you weren’t quite ready to hear. He probably thought he was baring good news, who wouldn’t when they said that someone’s case was being reopened, that they might get to leave prison? And most would be glad to hear it. 

Steve waited to see if you would move from where you stood frozen, but you didn’t. You still kept your head down. He wondered if you were perhaps crying. After all, you must have heard some pretty gruesome news. 

He dared a step closer, making sure to make noise as he did. You raised your head, wiping off what must be tears, but you didn’t recoil from him like he thought you might. 

“You alright?” he asked kindly, keeping his voice somewhat down for privacy. 

You swallowed down the rest of the tears, and wiped the ones already fallen, and turned towards him. 

“Yes, sir,” you said, voice carrying a bit of a tremble. 

Steve nodded, wanting even more now to just hold you, to tell you it was all going to be okay. But by doing so, he was probably sending the opposite message. But seeing the streaks of tears, the redness of your cheeks, made him wish even more that everything was different. 

“Okay,” he said, and smiled warmly down at you, even though you never looked higher than his chest. 

You went to take a step, hoping to get back to the confines of your bunk, the privacy and comfort of your bed, but Steve stopped you. Not by force, but he turned his body enough to let you know that you weren’t allowed to leave yet. Had you messed up? Again? Your entire spine went rigid, like the cartilage had turned to stone. 

“You should probably get something to eat,” he said, and turned his torso towards the doors to the cafeteria. “You’ve been through a lot today.”

He knows. Oh, god, he knows. He knows about the photos, about the videos, about whatever may be out there, circling around on media platforms. Has he seen any of it? Has he seen what Nate did to you? What did that mean in terms of what they had done to you? They had said that it was all for killing Nate, and you _were_ responsible for that, but would this change anything? Would they see you any differently? You could never be completely sure that Steve and Bucky didn’t know _anything_ about what Nate had done to you, you just thought it was more plausible that they didn’t. But maybe they did… Maybe this wasn’t news to them.

Had they perhaps already seen some of this footage that had been leaked? Should you hope for that? Was it better if they didn’t know about any of it, or only just learned? 

You felt bile rise in your esophagus. Your breathing quickened to the point where you thought you were going to black out if you didn’t get it under control. But with several deep breaths, it slowly calmed down. Though your heart was still racing in your chest. You didn’t know what to think, how to make sense of any of it. What should you hope for? 

Steve bowed his head down with a sigh. He worried that he might have given away to much, or perhaps too little. There was no telling what the information might do to you, and he didn’t know what your lawyer has just told you. Could just be more things piling on top of each other for all he knew, and you were slowly being buried underneath it all. 

He was almost startled when he heard your voice, meek and low as it was. 

“Yes, sir.” 

He raised his head again, though he didn’t need to much, seeing how small you were in comparison, and you still wouldn’t meet his eyes. But he started stepping back, allowing you more space to pass him and walk into the cafeteria. Slowly you walked by, keeping your chin tucked in out of respect.

It felt like it was written all over you. Like everything that had been done to you, by Nate, by the guards, had been branded like a scarlet letter on your skin. Like everyone could see it, and shame you for it. 

You moved like in a haze, like the fog had seeped out from your mind and covered the whole room in its misty gloom. Everything was just going through the motions; standing in line, taking a tray, finding a seat. It was all done without you, yet there you sat. In the middle of the busy room where everyone moved at lightning speed, and you were frozen in time. 

The sea of questions and fears was growing like the tide. It didn’t stop. You couldn’t answer anything, you couldn’t even make up a scenario of what you should hope for. And it all just kept coming, kept growing. It felt like you were standing at the edge of an abyss with no one to pull you back. There was no one there. 

You hadn’t gone unnoticed by Bucky. He saw the state you were getting into, going further and further into yourself, retreating back into the comforts of your mind. Or maybe it wasn’t comforting at all. It certainly didn’t look it. 

Steve came walking in, taking his place next to his friend where he stood by the water beakers, overlooking things. He sighed deeply, letting go of his worries all in one breath. 

“How’d it go?” Bucky asked, concerned by the tension.

“She didn’t say much,” Steve said, looking over at you sitting at the table, picking at your food. “I don’t know what the lawyer said, but she sounded chocked. She cried a bit, so I suppose he told her something about the tapes. Poor thing,” he added, feeling the hurt brewing in himself. 

Bucky looked at you, taking in the mental picture of what might have been said. 

“Let’s hope they get it all under control soon,” he said. “Get this shit over with and get her out.” 

Steve turned to face Bucky.

“You don’t think she did it? Or, meant to do it?”

“No, I don’t. I think it’s like she’s tried to say; self-defense gone wrong.” 

Neither said anything more, letting the thought grow in their minds instead. There were so many possible outcomes. It was one big shit-show of a mess, and you were simply caught in it, caught in the bureaucracy. 

Both men thought that it was probably as you had tried to say; self-defense. That it wasn’t deliberate at all, but something that happened by mistake. By accident. Every time they had said to you what a liar you were, a murderer, that you deserved to rot behind bars and simply take what they were dishing out, all played back in their minds. How wrong they had been. How blind and foolish. It was a hailstorm of self-loathing and misery. For all. 

The officers weren’t alone in watching you. You had truly friendly eyes on you as well, and not the threatening kind like Pennsatucky. Nicky spotted your hunched over figure, sitting there almost like a statue if it wasn’t for the slow picking in the food. Her feet slowly led her closer, but she stopped herself. She noticed the guards, Barnes and Rogers, and they noticed her. 

She clenched her jaw, fighting not to roll her eyes as she sighed at the frustrating situation. But she remembered officer Barnes’ words, and she had to look out for herself and her family. So, she aimed for another table. 

But when she passed the officers, having no choice but to, Bucky took a step forward, blocking her. 

“You should probably eat with Harper,” he said lowly. “She might need it.”

Nicky gave a slightly nervous scoff, not really believing the trickery. 

“And risk hellfire raining down on me? As tempting as that sounds, officer, I-I’m gonna pass.”

She took a step to pass him, but he parried her, grabbing her arm. She prepared herself for more threats, maybe just simple ones of getting a shot or extra work, but the struggle he had to find the words, let her know something else was coming. 

“You’re not gonna get in trouble for it,” he said, voice clearly strained, as if he was trying to control himself. “Not now or… ever. Just go sit with her.”

She raised a brow, but wasn’t about to question. He met her calculating gaze, trying to figure him out, and he just waited. Eventually he let go of her arm, remembering himself, and took a step back. And she didn’t linger. 

She turned back around, not surprised to find you staring off into the abyss of the meatloaf, or what _would_ be meatloaf. Placing her tray loudly on the table right opposite you, she managed to get a raise of your gaze. 

“Hey there, kid,” she said, but you could only stare at her. 

What was she doing? She was going to get in trouble for this! The officers were in the cafeteria, they wouldn’t miss this. 

But she ignored your horrified expression, and your lack of acknowledgement at her company.

“What happened?” she asked and nodded to your cast.

She didn’t know. Of course, she didn’t. No one really knew what had happened, and no one had cared before. You had no one. 

“I.. I had an accident.”

She just nodded, ignoring her own growing concern for your hollow voice and vacant expression, and she really didn’t believe the tale of the ‘accident’. But she wouldn’t push. 

“Okay,” she said, not wanting to pressure you more, but rambling was her specialty. “You’re not eating?”

Your gaze slowly traveled back down to your food. 

“Not hungry.”

“Okay, sure, fine, I-I get it. It’s not the best. Here, take my yoghurt. That’s always good.”

She all but threw the cup of strawberry yoghurt at your tray, then adding a spoon from her tray. 

She seemed erratic to you. Like she was trying too hard to make up for a mistake that wasn’t even hers. Like she was nervous. And maybe she was. She was defying a direct order from officer Barnes and Rogers, that would rightfully make anyone nervous. What would they do to her for simply sitting with you? Would they do to her what they had done to you? Or did you have to murder one of their friends before they took it that far? 

It felt good to have Nicky there, to have someone talk to you. She was friendly and easygoing, albeit a bit strange, but who wouldn’t be after doing drugs for several years. It added to her whimsical persona. 

You didn’t know what compelled you to share with her, but for whatever reason, you were glad to get it out in the open. 

“My case is being reopened.” 

There. There it was. You had kept your voice down, knowing these type of things were not spoken of in prison. Not unless you wanted to get all the attention, and that meant more than the good kind. And you already had plenty of that, you really didn’t need any more. 

“What?” Nicky asked in disbelief, leaning in closer. 

“I probably shouldn’t say that, I shouldn’t say that,” you mumbled, but Nicky placed a calming hand atop of yours. 

“Hey, that’s amazing, kiddo!” She was smiling from ear to ear. “You’re gonna go to trial again?”

You nodded, remembering Howard saying something like that. 

“Yes,” you said. 

“What’s the reason?” 

Nicky started eating her food, ecstatic by your luck, and truly happy for you. So much so, that she missed the fearful furrow of your brows, the glossy shine of your eyes, and where they were looking. The officers were both looking over at you, and you weren’t quick enough to avert your eyes, before finding theirs. 

They must know. They must have seen the footage, heard the story in the media. They must have seen something, something they hadn’t seen before. They looked shamed, remorseful even. There was no anger in their eyes, no hatred. They looked almost sad when they met your eyes, as did their shy smiles trying to comfort you. They hadn’t known. But now they did. 

“Newfound evidence.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, it's getting darker and darker for poor Jess, but, YAY, Nicky is back!


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long! 
> 
> I am being kicked out of my house and have to deal with moving right now, and it's also causing me a lot of anxiety, so I can't write as much as I'd like...
> 
> Things will be better pretty much as soon as October begins, but until then, it might be a little longer between updates. I try to write as much and as fast as I can!
> 
> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Mentions of drugs, threats, violence, blood, panic attacks and overall nastiness

You were stood in the pill-line, waiting to get the batch of painkillers you desperately needed for several different reasons, but would have to trade away for your safety. With a tensed-up body, aching wrist and now again burning core from having to sit on such a hard surface, your nerves were begging for a relief, however fleeting. 

But that meant having to risk your own safety, in not giving Pennsatucky what she wanted, what she had ordered of you to do. And you were good at following orders and doing what you were told. And this was no exception. 

“Next,” nurse Banner said from where he was stood behind the glass. 

You walked up to the front, trying to tone back the stiffness of your body, and cover up your paleness with a smile, however tight it may be. 

“Hi,” you said, trying to sound chipper, and not at all like you were falling apart. 

“Ah, Harper,” he said joyfully, and grabbed your cup of meds. “How are we feeling tonight?”

He held out the small paper cup for you to take, and you willed your hand not to shake as you reached for it, the reason unclear. It was hard to distinguish what was causing you such worry and pain, you had many possible reasons to chose from. But now was not the time to get hung up on those matters. Now, you had to do what was asked, and put up a front. 

“I’m alright, thank you, sir.” 

You put the cup to your mouth as Bruce turned to scratch something off his list. He didn’t notice you lifting your tongue up before leaning your head back and tilting the cup for the pills to fall into the cavity. Giving a quick quirk of your mouth to him, you took the small cup of water and poured it into your mouth, swallowing it on its own. You showed him your seemingly empty mouth, and shut it with a smile. 

“Thank you,” he said, and tossed the cups into the trash. “See you in the morning, Harper.”

It was a good thing you rarely spoke more than what was needed, even before. Because when you only gave the kind nurse a smile and nothing more, he didn’t think anything of it, and just smiled back, sending you on your way. 

Rounding a corner, you spit the pills out into your hand, drying them off on your shirt before quickly hiding them in a pocket. You looked around, making sure that no one saw, and started heading towards the area you dreaded the most; the laundry. 

You hadn’t been down there since it happened. The bag full of laundry was still hanging from a hook in your cube, waiting to be washed and traded for new. But you just hadn’t been able to face it before. You still weren’t ready. If you had the choice, you would never see the inside of that room ever again. But you had to go. You had to find Pennsatucky and give her what she had asked for, hoping it would be enough to get her off your back, as well as her followers or squad. 

Slowly but surely, despite your insistent prayers to the higher powers, you found yourself staring at the doors to the laundry room. You could see shapes moving in the room, shadows hidden behind the wall of washers which had so effectively hidden what happened to you. 

It was just another barrier. You knew it had been more than the doors to the laundry, or the wall of machines that had kept the secret. It was all the locked gates, all the doors and winding corridors, in the middle of the night, that had. The officers had planned it that way. So, it wasn’t just the machines. That’s what you told yourself. 

Trying to focus on that as to not crumble when being there, in _that_ room, just made for a change of scenery in your head. The worry didn’t leave. The building panic didn’t leave. It was now just focused on the big picture, instead of the small, isolated room. And that wasn’t better. It didn’t make it any easier to forget. It didn’t make it any easier to handle. 

You stood there, frozen on the spot, staring at the doors. If it were up to you, you would turn around and make a run for it. Or, walk as fast as you could at least. Running wasn’t really an option in the near future. But one of the inmates, a brown-haired girl with equally greasy hair as the rest of the bunch, peeked around the machines and spotted you. If you turned around now, you would be in even more trouble than before, and that was something you really didn’t need. 

You swallowed through the dryness of your throat and mouth, hoping to force down the worry with it, but failed miserably. You hoped to at least not fail in the next endeavour, and pushed the door open. 

Inside was Pennsatucky, Grease Hair, and... other Grease Hair. Let’s call her Grease Hair the second. Pennsatucky sat perched on a table, dangling her legs of the edge and a grin on her smile, while the other two paced around. They seemed restless, excited. 

But you were a mess inside. The panic was boiling just from being in that room, from seeing Doggett sitting so leisurely on the table where you had been so violently bent over and held down while the officers had their way with you, the wood soaked with your tears. It was such a comic contrast. And the irony of this exchange taking place here, again, was not lost on you. 

“You got what I asked for?” Doggett asked, bringing you somewhat out of the fog. 

You looked up at her, your fearful and worried expression hopefully apt in this situation, and felt for the pills in your pocket. 

“Ye-yes,” you stuttered in a low voice. 

Pennsatucky hopped off the table with glee and walked up to you. Her grin was growing even wider, and it reached its peak when you held out your open palm, two pills resting there. She giggled and took them from you. 

“Thank you,” she said, raising the ‘you’ up to a high pitch. 

She turned around, and the others saw the content of her hand. 

“Just two?” Grease Hair said, looking at you accusingly. 

“Th-that’s all they give me,” you said, taking a small step back, wanting to keep the distance. 

Her annoyance was bringing that evening back, full steam ahead. It was so reminiscent. Every emotion coming from them, everything from within you was coming closer and closer to the surface, replaying that horrible night. You had to hold on, just for a little longer. 

“But they give you more, right?” Pennsatucky said, looking up from admiring the pills in her hand. 

Your eyes were filling up with salty water, you throat was clogging up. 

“I... I-I get some in the mornings.” 

Your voice was slowly betraying you, hiding away inside your chest. Your shoulders were reaching higher and higher, almost hiding you between them. There was no part of you that wanted to be there, all of you remembered what had happened last time. Everything was screaming inside of you for you to get out of there, get somewhere safe. 

“Good,” Doggett said, startling you where you stood trying not to cave in on yourself. “Then you can bring me those too.” 

“Please...” you didn’t know what compelled you to even try, but you did. “I n-need them. Just... one. Please? I-I’m in a lot of p-pain...” 

Doggett moved with quick steps, coming face to face with you as she invaded your personal space, her energy strong despite her stature. 

“I’ll make sure you’ll be in even more pain of you don’t shut that cocksuckin’ mouth of yours, and hand over those pills!” 

You gasped and trembled, but stayed put. It wasn’t so much out of will, but more that you just couldn’t bring yourself to move. Looking away from Pennsatucky, you could see the other girls also keeping their distance, seemingly not all that comfortable with the anger, but relieved it was not aimed at them. 

“If you don’t give me those pills, I will cut you open like a Christmas ham,” she said, voice calmer but no less serious. “Think your kind, generous, hunks of officers can save you from that? Hmm?” 

She was mocking you. She even turned her body enough to invite the other two into the conversation, but they only smiled and let her keep on. And she didn’t even notice how you flinched with each praising word used to describe the men who assaulted you. 

“’Cause I don’t,” she said, like you were simply discussing if the weather was going to be nice. “Because... I have my ways. And my ways are no less than creative, no less than inventive. And no matter how many times you fuck officer Barnes, or officer Rogers, or whoever else it may be... No matter how much cum you guzzle down... they won’t always be there.” 

Doggett raised her brows at you, her face contorted into feigned concern. It almost looked like she was looking out for you with what she was saying. But the truth was the clear opposite. 

“So... I say... You hand over those pills, and do so with joy—” she said with a grin. “—and we won’t have a problem. How’s that sound?” 

There was nothing you wanted more than to sink through the floor, through the grounds of the earth and just be eaten whole by its core. Then it would be no more pain, no more fear, no more threats. Then there would be nothing. You would be nothing. 

“Okay...” 

Again, you had to let yourself take a mental, emotional and phycological beating to avoid a physical one. And the logic of that was becoming more and more unclear. Physical pain was fleeting, it was momentary. This, what you were feeling now... was not. Yet you had again made the conscious choice to add to it. 

“Alrighty then,” Doggett said with glee. “We’ll see ya tomorrow then.”

She walked past you, close enough to bump into your shoulder. The pain resonated down to your wrist, and you couldn’t help but groan. The others, Grease Hair one and two, both gave you a lop-sided smile when they heard it, before following Pennsatucky out the door. Leaving you alone. No one cared about your pain. 

Breathing was becoming harder by the second. Your heart was trying to break through the bones of your chest, ripping through your flesh. Everything tensed up, everything shook and trembled, enough to send you reeling to the floor. With gasping breaths, you scooted back and back and back until you hit the wall behind you. You forced your knees up towards your chest as high as you could, wrapping your arms around them and squeezed as much as you could with one good arm. It didn’t help. It didn’t stop it. It was still happening. 

The room was closing in. The walls were coming closer, the table was getting higher where it stood beside you, dwarfing you where you sat huddled in the corner. The wall of washing machines was building higher, wider, blocking everything. Blocking you. Caging you in. 

Flashes of memories appeared, so vivid you could see it all before you. How Steve threw you against those very machines. How he had held you when Bucky pressed the taser into your abdomen and sent chocks of searing pain through you. How Bucky send you careening into the wall where they mocked you, threatened you, teased you. And for a moment, just a short moment, you even saw how you fought back. When you found some fire inside that made you kick your leg out, making contact with Bucky’s leg. How you didn’t give up. How you fought. 

But the images of you being thrown over a table... Forced down by an easy grip on your neck... And how your trousers and underwear where torn away to expose your private parts, revealed the opposite. When you gave up. When you stopped fighting. When you shattered. 

Tears were streaming down your face as you rocked back and forth like a crazy person. Every time you exhaled you let out a dark groan, a cry for any sort of help to make it all stop. But it didn’t come. It never came.

It wasn’t new. It wasn’t new to you, to have any of those things happen. It wasn’t something you hadn’t heard before, or felt before. It just kept coming. It just kept happening. No matter what you did, no matter how hard you fought against it, it just kept happening. It never stopped. It was never going to stop...

And now people knew. People had seen what had happened to you, what you let happen to you. They had seen your shame, seen you faulter. They had seen how worthless you were, how shameful and stupid. Ever mark on your body might be on display somewhere, more than what you were constantly carrying around with you and trying to keep hidden from the light. 

You had always tried to hide the stories written so boldly on your skin. Each one told its own tale, carried its own hatred, and pain, and fear. They were the pieces. Your life was the puzzle. And in your mind, you carried the finished picture. There was nothing you wanted more than to have a different puzzle to put together. A different picture to look at. Something that didn’t tell of hurt, and blood, and pain. 

But what you had so tirelessly kept hidden from view, kept safe from everybody else, kept to yourself to keep yourself from falling apart, had now been broadcasted to the world. There was light shone on it, it was under a magnifying glass, put under scrutiny. It was real. It was everywhere. 

The flashing images didn’t stop either. It was a whole marathon of punches, kicks, cuts, blood and rape being replayed inside your mind. And every possible time it could happen again, just for good measure, was played there too. Anyone could hurt you like that again. Any man who ever got close to you could rape you. Again. There was no escaping from it. There was no stopping it from happening again. No matter what you did... you got hurt. 

Your ears were so taken by the sounds coming from your mouth that they failed to register the opening of the doors, or the footsteps of the approaching officer. Nothing warned you of his presence, before his voice startled you out of your panic. 

“Are you hurt?” 

You gasped. Your eyes flew to the dark and handsome officer standing a few feet away, his kind eyes now lined with worry as you looked up at him. Unconsciously you pressed back even more against the wall, your mind working through every possible outcome of this encounter, and none ended well for you. 

“I...I...” 

You couldn’t speak. Your voice had escaped and left only the tension of your vocal cords, now choking any sound you tried to make. Nothing clear could come out, only hiccupping shudders and groans. 

Officer Wilson took another step closer, but he seemed aware of how easily you spooked, and kept his distance. 

“Inmate, are you hurt?” he tried again, louder than before. 

This time he got a shake of your head as a response. You took a deep breath in, and slowly let it out. You repeated the same procedure again and again, and eventually the tears stopped falling, and your chest stopped bobbing like a cork in the water and actually drew breath deep enough to be calming. 

“N-no, I...” you breathed deeply. “I am f-fine, s-sir. I’m fine.” 

The easiest lie you could tell. Such easy words to say. Yet they held so much meaning.

The officer nodded once, still keeping on his side of the room. 

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, that’s good.” 

You wanted so bad to close your eyes and just breathe, just let the panic settle and disappear to the back of your mind where it always slept soundly, but you couldn’t tear your eyes off of the man standing in front of you. Was he going to hurt you? He seemed to have other intentions, but there was no trusting that. You couldn’t trust anyone, let alone your own mind. 

“Could you please stand up for me?” Sam asked softly, but was ready should you try anything. 

This wasn’t his first time handling an upset or crazed inmate, and he knew the dangers that could come with it. It was better to be safe than sorry. 

Standing felt like a hike up Mount Everest but eventually you got there. Afterall, you had to do what the man told you to do. Your legs were weak and stiff, and threatened multiple times to quit on you. But you stayed standing. With tear streaked cheeks and red eyes you stayed standing, watching the officer as he watched you. 

“Okay,” he said, his voice still soft and gentle. “Do you have anything on you?” 

“N-no, sir,” you said with a shaky but still stable voice. 

The panic was simmering down. Soon there was only the aftermath left, the traces scorched everywhere; your mind, your emotions, your body. You were shot to hell, and wanted nothing more than to sleep, and not feel anymore. But you still had to face the obstacle standing in front of you. And like clockwork, the build of another kind of panic was back. 

Sam nodded slowly and visibly relaxed when you held your hands somewhat away from your body to show that you were no threat to him. What he couldn’t see, was the turmoil going on inside your head, still calculating the threat of him. 

“Okay,” he said, which was apparently his favourite word. “I just need to check to make sure that you don’t have anything on you. Turn around, and face the wall.”

He was going to hurt you. It was going to happen again, in this very room. You were so sure of it, sure that the officer was doing to hurt you, was going to do harm to your body, in one way or the other. But you didn’t have it in you do even try to fight it. The light was gone. The fire was out. So, you did as he said. You turned around, facing the wall, and prepared yourself for what was to come. 

“Hands on the wall,” Sam said, his voice tighter than before. 

You did as he instructed, and your shaky hands found the coarseness of the wall. He walked up to you, you could feel his presence as he approached, then feeling him put a hand between your shoulders to keep you put. Your body froze as your mind went blank, simply waiting for it to be over. He could do whatever he wanted to you and you would let him. Because that was the best thing to do. It was the easiest. 

But the officer’s hands simply patted gently around your body, checking your pockets, feeling for any hidden objects anywhere on your person, and when he found none, he simply let you go. 

“Alright,” he said, and backed away from you. “I just had to make sure you weren’t gonna hurt yourself, or anyone else for that matter.” 

You didn’t move. You stayed there, hand against the wall with your eyes closed, still prepared for what was to come. It wasn’t over. But he didn’t do anything else. He didn’t touch you anywhere else, or even as much as shoved you against the wall. He had let you go. 

“You’re not in trouble, Harper,” Sam said to the back of your head, waiting for any kind of response. 

Not in trouble. There was no way for you to be sure of that, but what you did know was that the officer wasn’t touching you anymore. He wasn’t hurting you. Now. He might hurt you later, but not now. Perhaps it was too risky at the moment. Perhaps he preferred to do it during the night, when there were less people around that could see. That could stop him. That could help you. But he wasn’t doing it now. Now, you were safe. 

You let your hands fall from the wall, and you slowly turned around. You kept your eyes down, scolding yourself for having faced him before. You should know better than to do that. Should know better than to look a man in the eyes, challenging him like that. You should know better. 

Sam didn’t leave just yet. He was still worried about you. You didn’t look fine, no matter how many times you said it, there was no evidence of that fact. It looked like you were barely breathing, which you weren’t, and the parts of your face that he could see all looked tired beyond belief. 

“What happened?” he asked, watching you flinch at the sound of his voice. 

“Nothing, sir,” you whispered. 

What could you possibly say? ‘My stepbrother raped me for years and years, then I went to prison for murdering him when I actually was only trying to stop him, then two of your fellow officers raped me, but everyone thinks it’s consensual and that I’m sleeping with them for favours, which means that the other inmates are threatening me, and now the whole world knows about what happened with my stepbrother, has seen what happened, and it’s all my fault.’.

Everyone knows. And no one knows. That’s what happened. 

Sam stood there. Not saying anything, he just looked at you, taking it all in. You were scared. Terrified even. Defeated. He had seen it before with other inmates. Nothing as serious as this, but he had seen it. That look on your face, the one that you tried so hard to hide from everyone, but sometimes you just couldn’t. 

He sighed lowly, but didn’t let you know what he was thinking or feeling. But he wanted you to know that you didn’t need to be afraid of him. 

“Okay, Harper. I just thought I’d ask since I saw Doggett with her crew leaving here, looking cheerful and that’s never good for others, I’ve learned. But if you say it’s nothing, then it’s nothing. But if there is something... anything... I’ll listen.” 

The officer seemed to have a kind heart. Something you’d hate to taint with your life or presence, something that seemed inevitable given your history. And if he was to know what you were really feeling, what you were really thinking about... He wouldn’t believe you anyway. No one ever believed you. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Sam didn’t fail to hear the automatic of the response. He didn’t fail to hear the hollowness of your voice when you said it. But he was going to stay true to his word, and not push if that wasn’t what you wanted. 

“Alright, then,” he said, and held out an arm towards the door. “After you.” 

Sam had parted ways with you outside of the laundry room. You had seemed to need the space, and he was done for the day. He had been on his way back to the staffroom to get his things when he spotted Doggett and the others leaving in a very cheery mood, and had decided to take a look. He was glad he had done so. Even though he didn’t find anything sharp on you, he wasn’t all that convinced that you weren’t going to hurt yourself. In some way. 

When he got to the staffroom there was no one there. So, he got his things and headed for the door. He didn’t _need_ to report any of it to his fellow officers, the matter was taken care of. But when he spotted Steve standing by the intake as he passed, he couldn’t help but step inside. 

Steve was finishing up some paperwork for a transfer, and only looked up when he spotted Wilson walking up to him, already wearing his jacket. 

“Leaving?” Steve asked, looking back down at the papers on the desk. 

“Yeah,” Sam said with a short nod. “I just thought you might wanna know that I saw Harper.” 

That got Steve’s attention, and he put down the pen and turned to Sam, leaning against the counter. 

“Oh, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I found her in the laundry room. She was pretty upset. It looked like she was having a panic attack.” 

The laundry room. Of course. Steve wasn’t surprised to hear the words ‘laundry room’ and ‘panic attack’ together, not after what had happened there. He looked down on the floor, flooded with shame and remorse just from hearing it. 

“Really?” he said, trying to keep the somber tone from being too apparent. “Where is she now?” 

“We parted ways in the corridor,” Sam explained. “I didn’t see where she went, but she’s not there anymore.” 

He waited for Steve to say something, but he didn’t. He just stood there, staring at the floor. The grip on his hip was getting tighter, enough so to whiten his knuckles. Sam didn’t comment on it. 

“Doggett was leaving with Leanne Taylor and Angie Rice,” he went on, earning Steve’s attention again. “I saw them come out of the laundry room so I went to check. That’s when I found Harper sitting in the corner. I don’t know what happened, and Harper wouldn’t say, but I thought you’d wanna know.” 

Steve gave him a warm smile and a slight nod. 

“Thank you, Sam. I appreciate it.” 

Sam did the same, and turned on his heel and walked out the door. 

“Have a good night,” he said, and disappeared around the corner, before reappearing in a window in the wall where Steve nodded goodbye to him. 

Steve placed his palms against the smooth surface of the counter, and leaned heavily on them, his head bowed down. He drew a deep breath, letting it out in a huff strong enough to rustle some of the papers before him. 

He hated hearing that you weren’t okay, that you were hurting. There was no way of knowing if Doggett and her friends might have done something to set it off, but Steve had a feeling it was more the surroundings than the company that had done it. He himself had subconsciously kept his distance from that very room, not wanting to be reminded of what had taken place there. What he and Bucky had done. 

The fact that you had been there worried him. And the fact that you’d had a panic attack or the likes, was even more worrisome. They had both been so stupid as to think that an apology, an empty promise to not hurt you again, would do anything to reassure you. Because it was just that; empty. You had no trust left for them, and they couldn’t blame you for that. 

Steve finished up the paperwork in a jiff, passing it on to where it needed to go, and headed off to find you. He just needed to make sure, he just needed to see for himself that you were as fine as could be expected in a situation like this. He passed through the hallways, twisting and turning and keeping an eye out for you. And he wasn’t the only one. 

Bucky appeared from an adjacent hallway, spotting Steve. 

“Hey,” he said, earning an acknowledging nod. “I thought you were at the intake.”

“I was,” Steve said, coming to a stop and took a moment to relax. “I just heard from Wilson that Harper wasn’t feeling too good, so...”

Bucky searched Steve’s face, finding traces of worry before Steve forced them away and replaced them with an annoying, almost apologetic look. Bucky smirked. 

“And you thought you’d just go see for yourself, huh? Make sure she’s alright, and all that?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said, and couldn’t help but give a hint of a smile. 

“Knight in shining armour,” Bucky said smoothly. “I like it. Suits you, Rogers.”

A small blush started making its way up Steve’s neck, and he shook his head at his friend. Not that it helped much to keep the blush away, but still. 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, okay, _Barnes_?” 

“Oh, how could I not? With a dreamy saviour like you standing right next to me?” 

Bucky even winked at him, really pulling Steve’s leg and running with it. And the fact that it just made Steve turn even redder was just too good to pass up on. 

O.o.O.o.O

Officer Wilson hadn’t followed you like you thought he might. He had turned around his own corner and left you to your own device, something you were more than grateful for. You really didn’t need the pressure of another man’s presence right now, you had enough on your plate as it were. 

Releasing some of the panic that always resided inside your mind was usually a relief, but this hadn’t been. Sure, you had been interrupted in the middle of it all, but that didn’t feel like the cause for all the pent-up stress still inside you. You were still so afraid.  


The fearing rabbit was back. You literally looked terrified where you walked, head shooting from one side to the other, constantly aware of everyone’s presence around you. Whenever someone took a step, you knew. Whenever someone laughed, it echoed in your ears. Your senses were on hyperalert. So, to miss the impending confrontation stalking towards you was a surprise on its own. 

Prison was very segregated, that you had learned. And the only ones who had bothered you before were the people living in the ‘suburbs’. They had been very vocal and somewhat physical in their threats, but nothing like this. 

“Ey, blanca,” was all you heard before you were slammed into a wall. 

“Ugh!”

Before you stood three Spanish inmates, all of whom you had never had an interaction with before. If it weren’t for the tags hanging from their clothes you still wouldn’t have an idea who they were. But now Diaz, looking made up from head to toe, Flores with hair as unruly as can be, making her look like a lunatic, and Ramos were all new acquaintances, Diaz being the one keeping you pinned to the wall. 

“Who you think you are getting off on sending guards after us, huh? Huh?” she barked at you, shaking you where you stood frozen like a ghost. 

“I-I don’t k-know what y-you’re t—” 

She shoved you again, not letting you finish your defence. The pretty, younger girl to her right, Ramos, got a word in before Diaz did. 

“As if we don’t know it’s you who’s fucking the guards?” 

“Yeah,” Flores said, before she started ranting in Spanish, gesturing boldly and looked angrier by the second. 

Your eyes jumped from one angry woman to the other, trying to make sense of the situation. You had no idea what the heck they were talking about, or what had even happened, but they were convinced it was all your fault. They said you had sent guards after them, which wasn’t true at all, but the truth never seemed to matter, or do any good. They were convinced you were at fault, and if they wanted to make you the scapegoat, then you’d be their scapegoat. It didn’t matter what you said or did. 

Diaz’s hands on you tightened as she slammed you back against the wall again, banging your head against it harshly. 

“You wanna fuck with us, huh?” she asked through gritted teeth. “You want the entire Latina population against you, huh?”

“I-I...” you tried to speak but no words would come out, fear silencing you as always, and the raging headache did little to help. 

This situation was new. You had never seen this, you didn’t know what rules to follow, how the game was played, or what would set them off. Was begging the right choice? Was it better to stay silent and simply wait for them to go away? You had no idea, and their yelling wouldn’t stop. 

“What?” Ramos spat, coming closer to your face. “You got nothin’ to say, huh? What? The guards fuck your throat raw so you can’t speak?” 

“P-please, I-I...” 

Everything always came back to officer Rogers and Barnes. Why couldn’t it all just stop? The memory was so close you could almost touch it, you felt in simmering inside your mind, prying for attention. And any mention of them or what had happened with the, only brought everything closer to the surface. Fight? Flight? Freeze? Or fawn? It was a spinning wheel of choices, of decisions that needed to be made, but it was never up to you. You mind acted in its own accord, your body following suit.

Flores was still dictating a novel in Spanish in your ear, and it didn’t exactly seem like a comedic one. It was most likely just the translated version of whatever Diaz and Ramos were yelling at you. 

Any other inmate turned on their heel when they spotted the encounter, disappearing around the nearest corner or walking back the same way they had come from. They must know better than to get involved in prison drama. No one stepped in, or stepped up to your defence. No one helped you. 

You were forced against a wall and held there, being screamed at in both English and Spanish, all the while being accused, again, of having inappropriate relations with a guard. Or several. Whatever the rumour told of this time. 

You didn’t see it coming, but you felt the sting of your cheek and split of your lip as you were slapped hard enough to send your head careening to the side. There wasn’t any time to even register it happening before Diaz got all up in your face. 

“You think it’s funny to send a guard to harass my daughter? What she ever do to you? Huh? What she ever do?” 

She didn’t wait for an answer, probably not wanting one, before she slammed a fist into your stomach, hard enough to force you to double over. Ramos took advantage of it, and knocked a knee up to your face. The pain resonated from your mouth, and the taste of blood hit as hard as the first sip of water after a long desert walk. _This_ you knew. _This_ was familiar territory. You were almost relieved. Familiarity would do that. 

You spat out blood, your coughing sending it in splotches all over the floor as you tried to ease the pain in your abdomen. She’d hit it hard and low, and it was enough to bring the pain back in your entire core, from the outside in. You wouldn’t be surprised if it caused more blood to seep out. It certainly felt like it. 

“Agh...” 

You tried gasping for breath but you couldn’t find it, and when Diaz grabbed your hair and pulled you back up against the wall, it wasn’t any easier. She stared right at you, her eyes blow dark with rage. 

“You ever come near my kid, my daughter... I will end you, blanca.”

Her free hand disappeared under the hem of her shirt, only to come back holding a homemade shiv. It was a simple toothbrush with a melted-in razorblade, the metallic shining beautifully in the light even, mocking you with its beauty when all it would do was cause you pain. You stared at it in wonder, almost in awe, just waiting for the inevitable.

The officers’ friendly little chat was interrupted when they heard commotion coming from around the corner. They could hear Flores ranting in Spanish, which on its own wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but the faint wheezing and coughing coming from another person usually didn’t accompany it. 

Steve looked at Bucky, both seemingly reading the other’s mind, and bolted towards the noise. They appeared just as Aleida Diaz brought a blade up to your face, threatening to use it. 

“Hey!” Bucky shouted, startling everyone. 

You gasped at the sound of the angry officer, as did Ramos. They all turned towards the guards quickly gaining on them, but Diaz didn’t seem too fazed. Ramos took a staggering step back with her hands out to her sides, looking as innocent as can be. Flores got ready for a rumble, placing her feet wide apart and just waited for the officers to give it their best shot, not planning on going down without a fight.

Fear bloomed in your chest at the sight of their angry faces as they came barrelling towards you. It was hard to distinguish memory from reality, what was really happening and what had already happened. You weren’t sure if you were back in that laundry room, held to the wall by the officers, or here in the corridor, actually held back by an inmate. Everything muddled together.

You looked back at Diaz who seemed unbothered by the impending threat of the officers, undoubtedly coming for her. She lowered the blade from your face, and gave you a wicked smile. 

“Don’t ever think we ain’t gonna get you,” she said lowly. “You better remember that, blanca.” 

Aleida swiftly stabbed the blade into your belly, right before Bucky managed to tackle her to the ground hard enough to cause the blade to fall from her hand and bounce away on the floor. Steve made quick work or bringing Flores down to the floor and cuffing her with her hands behind her back, as she continued to spit obscenities at him in Spanish, kicking out in the air hoping to catch him. 

“Stay down!” Bucky yelled at Diaz, who still wouldn’t shift her focus from you. 

“Fuckin perra!”

The commotion had brought the attention of officer Donaldson, who came running up and grabbing Ramos, bringing her to a wall and kept her there. She didn’t put up much of a fight, instead she started pleading her case and innocence in the matter. 

You stood there, rooted to the spot and just staring straight ahead. Your hands were shaking, your breathing was nothing besides shallow puffs and huffs as tears started falling down your cheeks. 

“You fucking puta!” Diaz yelled from where she lay on the floor with Bucky on top of her, a knee pressing down hard into her back. 

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Bucky spat at her, as he made swift work of the cuffs. 

The clinking of the metal bands sent another course of flashes through your mind, and the pain in your abdomen came back as you remembered the taser being pressed so hard into your belly. You could still feel the pain. It was still there. It hurt. 

With teary eyes you looked down, finding your grey shirt being slowly stained with blood, seeping through the fabric and spreading like paint on a wall. A shaky hand came to press against it, only to draw back revealing a coat of warm blood on it. 

Steve and Bucky both looked up at you from where they sat on top of the inmates who had hurt you, their eyes jumping from your abdomen to your face. But you were so lost in the fog inside your mind that you couldn’t see them. You couldn’t see anything but the blood on your hand, the blood that was pouring from a wound in your belly, a wound you had yet to see. Another scar to add to the collection, you could hear Nate’s voice calling. 

Before either Steve or Bucky could ask you how you were, CO Donaldson reached for his radio, keeping one hand still on Ramos as he held her to the wall. 

“Requesting backup in corridor C. A fight between inmates resulting in three arrests and counting. In need of backup immediately.” He let go of his radio and directed his focus on you. “Stay where you are, inmate. Don’t move a muscle.” 

His voice drew your attention, but you couldn’t hear the words he was repeating over and over. You could see his hand reached out towards you, as if to keep you pinned from afar, but you couldn’t hear him. You just stared at him, eyes glazed over and swimming in tears, still not breathing right. 

“Ease up, she’s hurt,” Steve said to his fellow officer, hoisting Flores up from the floor, who cursed at him under her breath. 

Donaldson looked at Steve. 

“You saw the fight?” 

Steve looked down at Bucky who was still keeping Diaz pinned down and checking her over for any hidden weapons, their eyes meeting briefly. 

“No, not all of it,” Steve admitted. 

“Then how do you know she didn’t start this?” Donaldson pushed, looking accusingly at both Steve and you. 

Steve couldn’t argue with that. He hadn’t seen what had happened, and claiming otherwise wasn’t right. Though he was very sure you were yet again just the victim, he couldn’t fight another battle for you, not like this. 

Aleida groaned as Bucky laid off her, before pulling her up to her feet in a not so gentle move. It startled you, brought you back to the present and the pain, your eyes shooting to hers when you once again came face to face with her. 

“Wha’? You fuck anyone in a badge, huh?” she said, voice laced with spite. “You fuck your brother, too?” 

What? You stared at her like you’d seen a ghost, and in a way you had. She knew Nate was your stepbrother? How long had she known? Did she know about what happened to him too? Everything was just spiraling into an even worse darkness. There was no stopping it. Her words, her eyes, the searing pain in your abdomen just became too much. 

“Shut the fuck up!” Steve barked at Diaz as soon as he heard it. 

Bucky gave her a shove to add to the command, leading her away from the commotion in an attempt to calm things down. If he was being honest, he really didn’t want you to get an other earful of whatever shit she had to say about you, or them, or your stepbrother. You’d had more than enough. 

Steve looked humbly at you, noting the paleness of your face, along with the blood dripping from your mouth, and the far away stare. You kept a hand pressed to the wound on your belly, but it was like you weren’t really in your body, by the looks of it. Or maybe you were trapped inside your head. 

“You okay?” he asked softly, not caring about the glare coming from Donaldson at such gentle language. 

His voice drew your attention. For the first time in a really long time, you looked at him. Really looked at him. His blue eyes were filled with concern and sadness and compassion. Lines of worry framed his eyes as his brows furrowed together. There was a tension in his jaw you hadn’t seen before. Like he had a world of words to say but no means to say them. 

CO Maxwell and O’Neill came jogging from down the hall, the sound of their footsteps bringing you out of your trance. You blinked like you had been blinded by the light, and started gasping for breath. It felt like you had been under water for hours, slowly drowning and not having enough air to fill your lungs. You gasped and gasped for breath, the tension burning in your chest, but it helped keep you grounded. 

That’s when the pain really appeared. You pressed down harder on the wound, knowing it would only hurt more, but experience told you that you had to. This was nothing if not familiar. The sarcastic remark of ‘at least it’s even on both sides now’ came to your mind, Nate’s shallow chuckle accompanying it shortly after. 

“What happened?” Maxwell asked, assessing the situation. 

She looked between her fellow officers and the inmates gathered, noticing the blood on your shirt. O’Neill stepped up and grabbed Flores from Steve, and started patting her down just in case, as was protocol. 

Steve straightened his back, never once looking away from you. He drew a deep breath, also familiar with situations like this. 

“Barnes and I came around the corner and found Harper being ganged up on by Diaz, Ramos and Flores,” he started explaining. “It looks like she’s been stabbed with a shiv, she’s bleeding pretty badly.” 

Maxwell looked around, nodding to Donaldson as he started leading Ramos away, and checked in with O’Neill, who was still patting down an angry Flores. 

“Mother Diaz or daughter?” she asked. 

“Mother.”

She nodded, looking back when she heard the sound of O’Neill leading Flores away as well, leaving just her and Steve with you. 

“Where’s the shiv?” she asked. 

“It fell out of Diaz’s hand when Bucky took her down,” Steve informed, and noticed the weapon discarded on the floor further down the hallway. 

Maxwell noticed it too, and made the decision that it could wait until she had checked you over. She looked at you searchingly, before stepping closer, making you take a flinching step back, a gasp joining in. She held her hands up to show that she didn’t have any bad intentions, and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she said softly. “I just need to take a look.” 

“No!” you almost screamed, taking another step away from the officer, your eyes glued to hers. 

You shook your head over and over, whispering ‘no’ like it was a prayer. You felt everyone’s eyes on you, but you didn’t care. They could look at your face all they wanted, as long as she didn’t look at your body. You pressed down harder, causing another gush of blood to spew from the wound. Your other hand flew to the wall to keep you steady, as you kept the distance. 

Steve took a short step forward, knowing how startled you must be from that alone, and he was not wrong. Your jaw was quivering and your body trembled as your eyes jumped to his. He lowered his head and slumped his shoulders, trying to appear smaller. It was hard enough with a stature like his, and his build didn’t make it any better. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said calmingly. “We don’t need to look. I’ll take you straight down to see nurse Banner, okay? He’ll patch you up.”

There weren’t really any other options to choice from, and the nurse had been very kind whenever you had seen him. He seemed like the best shot, and hopefully you would be able to hide your body as much as possible during the examination. If you said no right now, chances were that one or more of the officers would look first, and no matter what you would have to see Banner. So, you nodded, and made your choice.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna say a big, big THANK YOU to each and every one of you! I never expected this fic to be so appreciated, and I couldn't be happier to share it with all of you lovely folks! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy and have a lovely day/night :* 
> 
> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> PTSD, body dysmorphia, blood and injuries

Once again, you found yourself in the vacant corridors leading down to medical, Steve by your side. He had handed you a paper towel to keep pressed against the wound, which you had taken after a little bit of hesitation. It had started off all crispy and white, but was now covered in crimson and falling apart in your hand. 

Breathing was becoming harder and harder, and the dried blood in your nose didn’t make it any easier. It was like you hadn’t taken a real breath in years, your lungs working like crazy just to draw air. You weren’t sure if it was from panic or pain; either mental, emotional or physical. Maybe it was just a mix of all of the above. 

Your mind was starting to fog over again, and all it could do was asses the danger of the situation, telling you to haul ass before the officer raped you again. Or beat you. Or killed you. Whatever he might be planning on doing. 

But Steve wasn’t planning to do anything besides get you to Banner and get you patched up. You were bleeding quite a bit by the looks of it, and he was worried Diaz had managed to puncture an organ. He prayed that wasn’t the case. He prayed her craft skills weren’t up to par with her aggression, and that the homemade shank had only managed to penetrate your skin, and nothing else. 

He walked you through the hallways slowly, making sure the bleeding didn’t get worse. But suddenly you doubled over, grabbing your abdomen even harder from the movement. 

“A-agh...” you groaned, reaching a hand out to support yourself against the wall. 

You were getting dizzy, your senses overrun and on hyperalert all the time. All of a sudden you hadn’t been able to keep your eyes open, and had taken a stumbling step.

Steve was quick to grab your other side, his hand covering yours where it pressed down against the blood. His other hand reached over to your shoulder, gripping it to keep you standing. 

“Easy, easy,” he said in an attempt to calm you, but all you could think of was his hands on you. 

You wanted to recoil from him, get some distance. But not only didn’t you want to anger him or upset him, you weren’t sure you’d actually be able to stay standing should you even try. The added pressure and stress he was causing from just being there was just piling on the rest, you felt like crumbling into a heap. So, you let him help you, let him touch you if that was what he wanted. Let him do what he wants, that’s always the best way to stay alive. 

You went to take a step, but the pain flared up when both yours and his hand moved. Steve misinterpreted your pain, thinking it was from taking a step that had done it, and not the movement on the wound. 

Before you knew it, he hoisted you up in his arms. You threw an arm around his neck out of instinct to keep yourself balanced, the other one still pressing on the wound. But the tension that seized your body from the proximity made it all worse. 

“Huh!” you gasped, and froze in his arms. 

You held onto him tightly, thinking that in some way it would mean less touching if you did, if he didn’t have to keep holding you up. But he still did. He still kept you close to him, holding you in his arms, surrounding you completely in his essence. His scent was overwhelming even through your clogged nose when your face came close to his neck, his cologne oaky and musky, if it wasn’t just him. His body was warm against your, his shoulders and neck strong wherever you grazed. 

“You okay?” he asked, concerned about how you went stiff all of a sudden. 

What could you say? You didn’t dare tell the man no. You were beyond worried that he would be upset should you try to move away from him. Fear had you in its vicelike grip, much like the one Steve had on you. Once again, you came to fear his strength and power, so you stayed as docile as you could. On the outside. 

You nodded your head, not trusting your voice enough to speak. Steve searched your face, his brows knitting together as he took in your petrified face and rigid body. Your gaze was set on his neck, glazed over and wet still from crying. Or so he thought. 

He started walking, having no trouble carrying the extra weight, as he passed through the last corridor. During it all you were as stiff as a log of wood in his hands, not moving a muscle unless it was from his own movement. When he kicked a foot out to open the swing door, you flinched back, not able to hold back a worried gasp and consequently pressed yourself closer to him to get away from the noise. 

Steve looked down at you once he felt the jump of your body, but didn’t have time to comment on it or ask about it, before Bruce appeared from a back room. He looked worriedly at you laying in Steve’s arms, hurriedly reaching for the door to the exam room before Steve could even nod to it. 

“What happened?” he asked quickly, letting Steve carry you through the door.

“A few inmates ganged up on her,” Steve explained, and set you down on the cot. “She’s been stabbed with a shiv.”

Your mental mantra was chanting _‘don’t run, don’t run, don’t run’_ when you felt the softness of the bed beneath you, and the release of Steve’s grip. There was nothing you wanted more than to scud into a corner and hide away, begging him not to hurt you. But that usually had the opposite effect you had learned, so you opted for a slower approach, and let Steve take the lead in setting you down. 

Steve looked down at you, but you didn’t dare look him in the eye again. One quick glance from his shoulder to his chin was all he got. 

“Thank you, sir,” you said meekly, scooting higher up on the bed, hoping it would create some distance, but you weren’t so lucky. 

The skin around the wound pulled, and you winced painfully at it. The noise kept Steve from leaving, his prior understanding for your need of space long gone, and replaced with simple concern. He stayed by your side as Bruce came up to your other side, both looking worriedly down at you where you lay stiff as a board. 

“How bad is it?” Bruce asked Steve, who shook his head.

“I don’t know, I haven’t seen it yet.” 

What he should have said was that you didn’t want him to see, or anyone for that matter, but he didn’t. So, Bruce when unabashedly reached to lift up your shirt, he didn’t expect the flinch and gasp. 

“No!” 

You pressed your hand down even harder, not caring about the pain as long as no one touched you, as long as no one saw what lay underneath. Whatever footage, whatever proof had leaked and shown what marked your body, it didn’t matter. The pictures were frozen in time, the videos just showing glimpses of your life. Your body carried your entire life story, and you had to be there for anyone to see it. And you rather not be. 

Both men shared a look of worry, before once again paying you all the attention. Bruce took a breath and held it, seeming a bit lost for words and trying to bide his time to find the right ones. 

“Jess,” he said softly, opting for the less formal use of your name. “I have to look, otherwise I cannot help you.” 

You knew that. You weren’t a fool, you were just scared. Afraid of what the nurse might think, what Steve might think and how they would judge you. Would they ask a million questions? Would they terrorize your mind with their inquires? Would they find you disgusting and broken? There was only so much you could take, and you were closing in on the edge fast. 

“I’m sure it’s fine, sir,” you said, almost pleaded. “I’ll take care of it.” 

You tried to sit up, but even before the pain could stop you, both Steve and Bruce placed an unwanted hand on each one of your shoulders to keep you from leaving. You froze like they had cracked a whip in front of your face. 

“No, no, no,” Bruce said, cutting Steve off before he could say anything. “You are not leaving this room until I’ve had a good look at the damage.” 

Bruce waited a beat, seeing what your reaction might be to him being so crude. When there was none, which in itself was a reaction, he gave Steve an apologetic look before speaking. 

“Now, I understand that you’re scared,” Bruce said. “But this is serious, okay? There is a grave risk of infection if this wound should go untreated. And even if you were to treat it on your own—” he added when he saw that you were about to plead your case, “—you don’t have the necessary disinfectants or equipment to wing it prison-style. I think the DIY of handcraft has done enough damage as it is, don’t you?” 

He wasn’t wrong in his judgement. You would do the best you could with the means available to you, but would it be enough? Right now, you didn’t care about the long-term. You weren’t even sure there was going to be one, so the option to leave and deal with it on your own was still appealing. But you had two very big and quite intimidating obstacles keeping that option from you, and one had already showed more than capable of hurting you, despite his apologies. 

Steve cleared his throat, making your body seize up even tighter at the noise. 

“Jess,” he said, knowing that Bruce wouldn’t think twice about his tone or language at this point. “For all we know, Diaz got that razorblade from a used and dirtied razor, meaning it carried a ton of germs that could be potentially fatal. We don’t even know how badly she got you, and the wound alone could do enough. Banner is only trying to help you, and so am I. Please, let us look.” 

Steve didn’t say anything you didn’t already know. The dangers of the blade, the risk of infection pointed out by nurse Banner... You knew all of it. They just didn’t understand that you didn’t care about the risks, or why you couldn’t bring yourself to show them. 

“Please...” you whispered, letting your head fall back into the cushion, eyes falling shut to keep the tears prickling there from falling. 

Steve sighed defeatedly, but Bruce could see the fear written on your face. He didn’t know much and he wasn’t going to say anything about it, but he understood the fear of showing your body. You weren’t the only person he had treated who didn’t want to show their body, and given what he had seen floating around the internet, your fear of vulnerability was more than apt. 

“Jess,” he said. “What if officer Rogers was to wait outside?” 

Steve quickly raised his eyes up at Banner. 

“I can’t do that, Banner. You know I can’t.” 

The hope was gone before you had even begun to feel it. Which was stupid. The man had already seen your most private parts, he had been _inside_ your body even... But just the chance of having only one person see you was breathing hope in you, but it was quickly strangled at Steve’s words. 

Bruce met Steve’s eyes, throwing a quick and worried glance down at you before speaking. 

“I know the protocol, but... Perhaps we can make an exception this time?” 

Steve pondered the idea. He understood the predicament, he knew the reasons why you wanted hide, what you were trying to keep hidden from their eyes. Maybe he didn’t know everything, but the little he did know, the parts he could understand, were still enough. 

“If I leave, I have to cuff her to the bed, and—” Steve couldn’t even finish his sentence before your panic rose. 

“No! No, stay! Please don’t do that...” 

Remembering your place, you quickly shrunk back in the cot, head down and looking at the blood instead of their faces. You shouldn’t interrupt! You have no say. You have no say... You knew you were pushing it with refusing to let them look, so the least you could do was keep your mouth shut when they were talking amongst themselves, it didn’t matter if you were the subject of conversation or not. 

But just the rattling of officer Barnes putting the cuffs on Diaz had sent a harsh flash of pain through your mind and body. Cuffs meant defenceless. Cuffs meant pain, and hurt, and entrapment. You couldn’t possibly go through an entire examination being cuffed to the bed without any means of protecting yourself. 

Steve held up his hands in defeat, figuring even the proximity of his hands near anything on his belt might raise your panic and fear even more. 

“Okay, okay,” he said. “I won’t.” 

Bruce gave Steve an appreciative smile for handling the situation with calm instead of assertiveness. He was a prison guard after all, and situations like these weren’t usually handled in such calm manners. 

Bruce supposed that you were simply afraid of losing control, having no idea about the history between you and the officer, or the cuffs’ part in it all. But despite that he was still somewhat uneasy with your reluctance. Fear could make people act out, and someone as helpless as an inmate might go to the extremes for the easiest things. Bruce was honestly relieved to have Steve there, and chose not to bring up the option of him leaving again. 

“We’ll take this slow, okay?” Bruce asked you, glancing up at Steve to make sure he knew that he appreciated his presence. 

Steve gave Bruce a small smile and a slight nod back, before Bruce turned around and grabbed some gloves from the trolley behind him. 

There was nothing more you could do. You were stuck between a rock and a hard place without anywhere to go. The nurse was gonna look at your body and see the damage done, as was Steve. You were more fearful of Steve’s reaction than the nurse’s. Bruce had been kind whenever you met, albeit a little pushy at times but you reckoned that was just the job. But Steve... 

Steve had hurt you. He had hurt you in one of the most horrible ways imaginable (though you had a long list), and he hadn’t given it a single thought before both men, for reasons still unbeknownst to you, had apologised. What would he say when he saw you? Would it spark his interest to perhaps try his hands at that too, now that rape was crossed off the list?

Bruce cleared his throat, and you reluctantly shifted your focus from the blood to his face, willing the tears to stay withing their cage for just a little while longer. 

“Let’s start by unzipping your hoodie, alright?” he asked gingerly. “Just that, nothing more.” 

With a shaky and cast-covered hand, you gripped the clip and pulled the zipper down. It snagged in a few places where the fabric was bunched up, but Bruce was quick to help with straightening it. You ignored the burn in your hand from the grip, wishing now more than ever that you had gotten at least one of those morphine pills. As soon as the zipper unhinged, you let go, not moving anything else. 

“Alright,” Bruce said, his focus completely on you.

Steve stood frozen on the spot right next to the bed, taking in every tremble of your body under the scrutiny from both men. Your skin was growing paler by the minute, and he sincerely hoped it wasn’t from the blood loss. You looked like you were going to be sick, the colour completely drained from your face, and he wasn’t wrong. 

You felt the familiar clench of your stomach and oesophagus, and the threat to hurl was very apparent. But you fought to keep it down. There was only so much embarrassment one person could take, and throwing up in the middle of it all did not need to be an added bonus.

“Okay,” Bruce said softly, with a shy smile on his face. “Now I’m just gonna lift your shirt up, just a little, as you move your hand away. Okay?” 

You swallowed down what had once been pride, but was now overtaken and drenched with acceptance of your fate. It didn’t matter if you fought for your right, argued or pleaded for what you wanted or didn’t want... Your life was not meant for you. It was for everyone else’s entertainment. You were a simple puppet on a string. 

So, you did as he said. Once your hand started moving away, your shirt was slowly being lifted. It caught on your skin due to the blood, but soon the wound was revealed. As were the scars nearby, some bruises left by the officers. And a letter or two. 

You turned your head away once you’d had an eyeful of their reaction. The shock was evident on both their face once it all came into view. Brows furrowed, mouths were left ajar after the initial intake of breath. Just like you expected. 

“Oh, my god,” Steve said through a sigh. 

His gaze shot to your face, but your head was turned away from him. Your sorrowful look was still apparent though. He closed his mouth again, jaw clenching hard in disappointment in himself, and he let out a deep sigh through his nose. 

Bruce’s eyes jumped up to Steve’s face for just a second, before bouncing back down to take in the damage done. He didn’t comment on anything, it wasn’t his place. Instead he did what was expected of him. 

There was a deep cut stretching a few inches, the initial entry of the shiv having dug a deep crater at the bottom before ripping upwards. The bleeding had eased up, coagulated around the edges and stopping the worst of it. 

Bruce cleared his throat. 

“I... I’ll need to do an ultrasound to check for any internal bleeding, but initially... It-it doesn’t look all that bad,” he said, with a slight choked sound to his voice, like he was trying to hold back. 

You didn’t look up at him, didn’t look anywhere but at a spot on the wall. It was done anyway. They had seen it, Steve had thought you were filthy or indecent or whatever else along those lines. And you were. You were nothing but a broken mess without worth and filled with shame. And it was all your fault. Just like everything else. 

“I’ll just go get the machine from the other room,” Bruce said to Steve since you didn’t seem all that responsive. 

Steve nodded uncomfortably, and gave the nurse a tight smile when he passed and went out the door. He couldn’t help but look down at your abdomen. It was right under his nose, skin and scars exposed, and your head was still turned away. He hated seeing it, hated how marked up your body was, hated seeing the marks he himself had left there. He felt shame pool in his gut even worse than before, knowing what must have happened to you to render you this... broken. 

He noticed how slow your breathing was, how shallow and measured. It was like you were just going through the motions, doing the bare minimum to stay alive. 

“How could this happen?” Steve said under his breath, more to scold himself than to outright ask anyone else. 

He was startled out of his crazy whirl of thoughts at the sound of your voice. He hadn’t expected an answer. 

“Isn’t this what you wanted...?” 

Steve’s face contorted in confusion. 

“What?” 

His voice was light and filled with hurt. And his face looked the part too, when you slowly lifted your head to his side of the cot, still not meeting his eyes but you could still see the expression he carried. 

“To make the inmates hate me too?” you said, the sound of tears evident in your throat. 

No! This was _not_ what he wanted to happen at all. He never wanted anyone to attack you like this, it was never part of the plan, no matter how dark and twisted it had been from the start. They only wanted everyone to shun you, to exclude you. That way you would be an easier target and you’d have nowhere to run from help. God, he hated himself for even thinking back on it. How he had Bucky had calculated the moves leading up to all of this happening. It was all his fault. 

“No, Jess, I—”

Steve stopped himself, not even knowing what he was trying to say. His judgement was clouded by fear, anger, hurt, shame, guilt, the whole nine yards. He was actually standing here, trying to defend his action which had caused all of this to happen. It felt like a punch in the face. He had no right to try and weasel his way out of it, it wasn’t right. 

“I’m sorry,” he said instead. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. We—Bucky and I never wanted this to happen, we never wanted anyone to hurt you. This... this wasn’t what was supposed to happen.” 

Then what was supposed to happen, you wondered, but didn’t say. What had the officers expected from violent criminals when they heard and saw favourable things happening between officers and an inmate? What was supposed to happen, if not this? 

He sounded sincere, but his words felt deceitful and fabled. Why would a man like him ever apologies or try and make something like this right, when he had a world of opportunity before him, presented on a silver platter. No. This was all part of the game, a ruse to fool you into feigned security and safety, only so they could watch you crumble and fall again. And you had no way of stopping it. 

You didn’t say anything back. You just turned your head back to the other side, eyes fixed on that same spot on the wall. Perhaps it was daring to show such rejection. Perhaps Steve would see it as submission instead? You didn’t know, and you found that you didn’t really care. If he wanted to punish you for insolence, then so be it. 

The rattle of a machine being rolled through the door seized Steve’s attention. He helped Bruce with getting it all the way in without hitting any doorframes, and soon it was plugged in and humming to life. Bruce hit a few buttons, changed the settings to his liking, and looked down at you. You were still only looking at the wall, but he spoke anyway. 

“This might be a little cold,” he said and squirted some gel on the side of the wound, careful not to get any in it. 

You didn’t react, even though the gel was a little cold. You welcomed the feeling instead, let it take away some of the pain and cool your burning skin. During it all, you never reacted, never showed any interest. There was nothing in your mind. No thoughts, no feelings, no light. Not even your inner monologue to distract you. So, you let that very interesting crevice in the wall absorb all of your attention, your mind blank as an unwritten page. 

Steve watched the monitor with intense exploration, trying to make anything out. It looked mostly like tv static, or busy ants running across the screen, making blobs of black and grey. He had seen a few scans before, but he was no expert. Gladly, Bruce understood it. 

“Alright,” he said drawn out, swirling the probe around on your bumpy skin, avoiding the scars as much as he could. “There doesn’t appear to be any internal bleeding, except for around the injured area, which is good. It’s kinda hard to see with so many shadows from—” 

He didn’t finish. He was going to say ‘scarring’, but it felt crass or rude to do so. Like he was in some way blaming you or your body for his lack of vision. He could see enough, but it would of course be easier if the surface was smoother. 

Steve felt the awkwardness reeking off the nurse when he cut himself short. Steve couldn’t understand what he meant about shadows since the entire screen was one big jumble of shadows, but he understood foot-in-mouth-disease just fine. So, he didn’t comment, instead giving Bruce a reassuring smile. 

Bruce removed the probe from your abdomen, setting it back in its place next to the monitor. He cleared his throat awkwardly, and looked down at your unparticipating form, speaking nonetheless. 

“I need to clean the wound to get a better look, but I can’t see anything wildly concerning on the screen, so that’s good.” 

You didn’t move, didn’t nod. You didn’t do anything to indicated that you had heard him or was even listening. As he continued, Bruce spoke equally as much to you as he did to Steve. 

“The entry wound is what concerns me. There might be some deeper damage done that won’t show up on the ultrasound, so I’ll need to keep an eye on that. But, uh... these bruises are old, though.” 

You swallowed hard at the mention, feeling the nerves radiate off of Steve where he stood beside you, shifting from one foot to the other. Bruce failed to see it, instead he started picking at the things on the trolley behind him, picking up cotton swabs and preparing sutures. 

“How did you get the bruises, Jess?” he asked, keeping the informality of your name. 

He waited a second, almost prepared to ask again in case you didn’t hear him, when your hushed, almost hollow voice broke the silence. 

“I must have gotten them when I fell...” 

Bruce looked down worriedly, shooting Steve a questioning gaze, but he was too busy staring down at his crossed arms to notice. 

“When you broke your wrist? That fall?”

“Yes, sir.” 

Bruce nodded, though it felt insincere. Perhaps he was disappointed in you. After all, you had claimed that you weren’t injured anywhere else but your wrist when he had asked, but evidently you were. You had lied to him, and gotten caught in it. So, maybe that was why. 

“Okay,” he said, not commenting any more on the matter. “I’m gonna start a venous catheter and give you some stronger pain meds before I do anything else. Seeing you got some morphine not too long ago, I can’t really give you that much, but it should numb the pain enough for me to clean it all up. Sound okay?”

“Yes, sir,” you said lightly with a nod, and the nurse got to work. 

You didn’t say anything about not taking the pills earlier. Pain wasn’t a new concept to you. You’d had plenty of practice living through it without any anaesthesia whatsoever, so even if you were only given a small dose, it would be more than what you were used to. If you told them the truth, you would be in even more trouble than you were. The officer would know how Doggett had threatened you, taken your pills for her own use, and you would be called a snitch yet again, but this time it would hold some truth. 

And the nurse might interrogate you further about everything, seeing as you had lied to him on several occasions already. He wouldn’t trust a single word coming from you, and he would force you to go through an even more thorough exam than you already had. There would be nothing left untouched, unseen. So, no. It was better to not say anything. 

Bruce worked mostly in silence, only once in a while asking if anything hurt, which you always claimed it didn’t. It didn’t hurt when he put the needle in. It didn’t hurt when he started swabbing the wound clean of blood. It didn’t hurt when he started pressing around the area to check for further damage. It never hurt. But it always did. 

The pull of the thread going through your skin tickled in the most uncomfortable way. Like you wanted to scratch at it, or pat the itch away. It always felt like that with shallow wounds you had learned. The deeper once, not so much. It was more a constant throbbing that caught your attention then. 

Bruce had started you on some antibiotics and fluids, just to be on the safe side. You had lost quite a bit of blood, and the wound had been deeper than he had initially thought. It worried him, and he didn’t want to risk missing anything else. Soon he was done with your abdomen, wiping it clear of blood and placing a bandage over it. 

During it all, Steve had paid close attention. His eyes had darted from your face, which was still turned away and still growing paler, and the scarred surface that was your belly. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the two letters peeking out from the edge of your trousers, which had undoubtably been pulled up high enough to keep it all covered. He knew what you were trying to keep hidden. What word rested there, taunting and ridiculing. He remembered the video showing its making, and how proud Nate had sounded for making it. How proud he had been of you for not dying in the process. 

And now, because of Steve and his folly, you had yet another scar gracing your body. Another reminder of the hate of this world, and the dangerous people in it. He wished he could take it back. Oh, how he wished he could take it all back. 

“Alright,” Bruce said in a bright voice and jogged Steve from his own thoughts. “That’s all patched up. Now, let’s take a look at your face.” 

Steve had completely missed how the nurse had literally patched you up and cleaned it all out, but he was relieved to hear it. It meant you were one step closer to healing, one step closer to being okay. He was even more relieved when Bruce covered your stomach up with your shirt, and not leaving it on display. 

Obediently, you moved your head to stare at the ceiling instead of the wall. You saw both men in your line of vision, Steve looking more stoic by the second. Bruce still had that searching look on his face, still in detective-mode by the looks of it, looking for anything that might need to be treated. 

Your lip was split in a nasty cut, the bruising around it spreading quickly down to your chin and side of your cheek. There was dried blood in your nose, but it wasn’t broken thankfully. All of your teeth were okay and in place, but the bruising was apparent even on your gums so you should expect some more pain even in your mouth from the hit. But other than that, you didn’t need much work. 

Bruce cleaned you up with ease, making sure there was no blood still spilling from the cut, and he put some calming salve on it to help it heal faster. During no part did you do anything other than nod or shake your head when asked something. 

For you, it was all over. All said and done. The secret was out, it was shouting for attention and not caring about what you wanted whatsoever. They had seen parts of you that you never wanted anyone to see, and there was no going back after that. You were done. Done caring, done trying to hope for something that was never going to happen. You were done hoping for any salvation. 

“All done,” Bruce said, and put down his things with a clatter on the tray. “How are you feeling? Is the wound aching? Any stitches pulling?” 

He was ready to take a second look even before you could say anything, worried that he might have missed something, or messed something up. 

“It feels fine, sir,” you said, but there was no truth in your voice. “Thank you.”

Neither one of the men seemed to hear it though, instead giving you pleased but tight smiles. Bruce even let out a relieved sigh. 

“Good, that’s great,” he said, seeming somewhat uncomfortable. 

He looked up at Steve, then back at you, then back at Steve again, who raised his eyebrows questioningly at him. Bruce smiled tightly at you one more time, before redirecting his focus on Steve. 

“I am worried for Harper’s safety,” he said finally, and Steve drew a deep breath, his chest puffing out. “This is the second time she had come to me with severe injuries, so I’m sure you understand my concerns, officer.”

Steve nodded slowly. Of course, he understood. He himself was more worried now than ever. Not only was there the issue of the footage that had leaked and going around, and it felt like only a matter of time before one or more of the inmates found out. And your case was going to be reopened, which put you at risk with the other inmates who weren’t as fortunate. If they had already hurt you this bad, it was only a matter of time before the news were misconstrued and twisted into even more reasons to hurt you. All the inmates would see was the part where you get out of prison. 

“Of course,” Steve said, hoping to meet your eyes but they were jumping from place to place to avoid it. 

What were they going to do? Put you in seg for your own safety? You had already spent several days down there, and that had done a number on your head. But that wasn’t really your biggest concern. ‘No cameras’. The officers would have a field day with you in SHU, with no one around to see any of it. You would be locked away from the world with no one and nothing to help you. They could do all kinds of things to you, and no one would be there to see. They could probably arrange it so they were the ones to bring you to the showers, forcing you to take your clothes off on your own, so they could see all their handywork. 

You listened intently at what the men were saying, but no matter what conclusion they would come to, you would have no say in it. You wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. It was just another show of power over you, complete control of your life and character. A puppet on a string. 

“I’d like to keep her here for observation,” Bruce said. “I know that inmates are usually sent to the segregated housing unit during times like these, but... The wound on her abdomen could easily become infected, and that could be fatal if not cared for properly. And seeing that inmate Harper has kept information like that from me in the past, I do not want to risk it by leaving her to her own device. That would be far to dangerous.” 

Shame flooded you. If you’d had blood to spare you would blush. You couldn’t be trusted. The kind nurse Banner didn’t trust you to take care of yourself. He would probably want to do a thorough check of your body for injuries later on, just to make sure there wasn’t anything else you had been keeping from him. 

“I understand,” Steve said, noticing the shimmer of tears in your eyes. “I think that would be best, too. Keep her separate from the other inmates, and give her some time to heal.” 

Your eyes shot up to Steve’s. You couldn’t understand his motives to let you stay down in medical. There would be nurses here, people who would keep an eye on you. There wouldn’t really be a window for any type of assault. 

“Good, I’m glad we agree,” Bruce said, standing up from the swivel stool he had been perched on for the last half-hour. “Her court date shouldn’t be too far away, so I’d say it’s best to keep her here until then.”

He knew. The nurse knew it too. Of course, he did, you were such an idiot for thinking otherwise. Howard had said that it was _leaked_ , meaning it was probably all over the internet and media. You were most likely the talk of the prison. The butt of the joke. 

“Yes, I think that’s best,” Steve said, noticing the scrunched up look on your face. 

“I’ll prepare one of the beds in the other room,” Bruce said to you with a kind smile, even though you didn’t return it. “I’ll be right back.” 

You watched him exit the room, seeing him through the window on the wall as he worked away in the other room. But you looked away, not wanting to stare. It wasn’t polite to stare. 

“Are you okay?” Steve asked softly. “I mean, with... everything.”

You swallowed the dry lump in your throat. 

“Fine, sir.” 

Steve gave you a tug of a smile, sighing through his nose. 

“We didn’t mean to be rude, talking about you like that,” he said, voice stronger and more comfortable. “We just wanna make sure that you’re safe, that’s all.” 

You nodded, eyes darting up to meet his for just a brief second, but it was enough to tell you that the officer had no intention of hurting you, or anything like that. Should you dare to ask? 

“How...” you cleared your throat, and tried again. “How many people know?” 

Steve figured you were talking about the footage, the videos and the pictures he had also found when searching. 

“The staff knows. The guards know, but I don’t think any of the inmates know. Is-is that why Diaz hurt you?” 

You shook your head to answer his question, and he let out another relieved sigh at the answer. He nodded his head, expecting the conversation to be over. It usually didn’t even span this long. 

“Did you know?” you asked, voice uncertain and weak. “Before... I mean.” 

You didn’t dare look up at him, didn’t dare face him. No matter what the answer was, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at the man who had raped you. No matter the answer, that part would never change, and you weren’t even sure why you were even asking. 

Steve took a deep breath, steadying himself. 

“No. No, we didn’t. We thought that you hurt him, not the other way around.” 

Should he say something more? Should he apologize? Again? One could never apologize too many times, right? But it didn’t seem to do much good, and perhaps it was just background noise to you? Something that was there but didn’t have any meaning. 

You nodded your head slowly, taking the information in. You were unsure if it had changed anything. Was it the answer you were hoping for? Would it be better if they both had known prior to the assault? Would it make it easier to demonise them? No. No, they were still the men that threatened you, hit you, kicked you, hurt you and raped you. No matter the reason, no matter the intentions. 

Steve watched your face, trying to read your expression, but it was hard. It didn’t really change at all. It was still the same empty, broken face of the woman he and Bucky had hurt so badly. There was no relief, no anger, nothing. It was just hurt. You were always hurting. 

Bruce walked through the door and broke the tension Steve was creating, almost waking him from a haze. Bruce smiled at Steve, then at you. 

“All done.”


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After receiving such amazing comments and love, there's just no other option than to upload what I got! 
> 
> Almost done with my move, so things should be back on schedule of uploads every 5 days or so, very soon!
> 
> Hope you like it <3

During all his life, Bucky Barnes had always been a good man in a storm. A steady hand. And that hand was just as steady when using a firearm, so joining the army was quite expected. No one was really surprised when they got the news. It seemed like a good fit for a man like him. They were really not surprised to hear that his childhood friend, his partner in crime and constant companion Steve Rogers had also joined the army. Another good man in a storm. 

That’s what they were both known for; a cool head under fire. Be it actual gunfire in a warzone, or a dispute between people they love; they were always strong, always logical and calm no matter the situation. People usually came to them for help, relied on them to save the day, and they usually did. But now they found themselves falling short. 

They didn’t really have anyone to go to but each other. Not that they really could go to anyone and ask for advice in a situation like this. What could they say? That they raped a woman and now they feel bad, and don’t know how to fix it? Whoever they _could_ talk to about that, they really didn’t want their advice on the matter. 

They had to do this on their own. They had to fix this on their own. And after seeing the state of your body, Steve felt the shame seeping from his pores. He just hoped that no one would notice. 

Bucky had been a nervous wreck waiting for any news on you. Well, as close to a wreck as he would ever come from nerves alone, which wasn’t really resembling a wreck at all. At least not on the outside. But inside, it was a turmoil, a tornado of worry and anxiety, of questions and fears. And when Steve approached him wearing a frown like no other, it didn’t exactly make any of it go away. 

Bucky nodded to him, brows knitting together in a similar frowny face, as Steve nodded back, but kept his worried look. Bucky looked around the room adjacent to the reception area, and besides CO Ford standing guard at the door, they were alone. Thankfully, Ford was far enough that he couldn’t hear anything. 

“How’d it go?” Bucky asked, rummaging through the pile of papers he had to fill out after the brawl. “How is she?”

Steve came to a stop on the other side of the desk, sighing deeply as his idle hands found and grabbed his belt. 

“Banner thinks she’s gonna be fine. There was no serious internal bleeding, and the wound was as superficial as it could be, given the circumstances. He wanted to keep her for observation, but I suspect he’s just looking out for her.”

Bucky nodded, relieved to hear it wasn’t more serious. He was prepared to hear that you would require surgery to get it fixed, so stitches were welcomed news. 

“He’s a good man,” Bucky said, filing another finished report. 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, but his worried frown didn’t disappear, and Bucky couldn’t help but notice. 

“You okay?” 

Steve gave one of his signature broody sighs, his shoulder slacking down as he looked down at the floor. 

“She has scars everywhere, Buck.” 

This time, it was Bucky who looked and sounded broody. It wasn’t really a surprise to hear about the scars. They had both seen that horrible video showing you all cut up with _whore_ written across your belly, so there was bound to be something else accompanying it. But going off the look on Steve’s face, it must have been awful to see it up close and personal. 

Bucky inhaled loudly, before letting it all out in a huff, hoping to take away some of the hurt. 

“She’s gonna heal from this too, Steve,” he said, hoping to convince both of them. “If she managed to survive what Millers did to her, then... She’ll survive this, too.”

“I know, I just... To see that... even if it was just a piece of what she’s really hiding, it was... excruciating.” 

He had to admit it. He had to say it out loud to admit that that was what he was feeling. It was excruciating to see those scars, to know that you were marked up not only externally, but internally as well. The traumas your body had gone through were displayed on your skin. Each one must tell its own story, about its own making and a time of pain and suffering. Like a warzone. You had walked through a warzone and made it out the other side, with the scars to prove it. 

He remembered his own time in Iraq. Everything he had seen, everything he had heard and felt and done. He had seen people take a hit and fall down, and not getting back up again, even if the shot wasn’t fatal. He had seen people paralyzed by pain from a shard of metal penetrating their body. It was no different than what you had been forced to go through. What you had lived through. You were a warrior. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, breaking Steve out of his sentimental reminiscing. 

Steve looked up at his friend, his gaze far away and pained but he was slowly being grounded by the familiar face. Bucky knew it was more than just guilt or remorse regarding what had happened with you. He knew his friend was getting lost in the war. 

“Don’t go there, Steve,” he said softly. “You’re not in Iraq anymore. Your right here. In prison with all the other crazies.” 

At that, Steve couldn’t help but give a small chuckle, earning one back too. They stood there for a second, just laughing. 

“Or possibly even crazier,” Bucky added through his snicker. 

It did the trick though. It brought Steve out of the muddy grey-zone and back in the present. His head was kind of foggy still, like he had been sleeping and awoken too soon, but he could make due with that. 

“God, you’re a jerk,” he said, though there was no spite in his words. 

Bucky just gave him one of his signature shit-eating grins, and smiled proudly at him. This was a part of his life he never wanted to go away. This was a part of his life that always read true, no matter what. Steve did this for him, and he did this for Steve. They were always there to help. They were good men in a storm. 

O.o.O.o.O

The beep of the heart monitor was equally annoying as it was soothing. It made it hard to hear anything but the sound, which was irritating after a while. But the steadiness of it was slowly lulling you to a restful state without much worry. It also let you know you were still alive, which, in truth, you were on the fence about. So, you were torn between letting the beeping slowly drive you crazy, even closer to the edge of insanity, or lunge at it and rip the cords off in mindless fury. 

The kind nurse had come in with a glass of water for you even. It was currently placed on the nightstand next to your bed, still untouched. You doubted the water was cold anymore. But it was a nice gesture. 

The door was locked. It was sealed with an identification pad which only opened with a staff member’s tag. You had figured as much. Of course, they couldn’t trust inmates in an unlocked room all by themselves. Not everyone was in a coma, and the ones that weren’t – you – could easily try and break out and cause a ruckus. Not that you were in any shape for any kind of ruckus, but the idea was inspirational. 

Your mouth hurt a bit, and the bruising was spreading down your chin and over your cheek. It was a mixture or red and purple, you could see it in the reflection of the glass casings on the cabinets across from your bed. It was a bit too far to get any detail, and the image was blurry, but you could see the colour just fine. 

You had been given a dressing gown to wear. It was now resting over the raised edge of the foot of the bed, also untouched. It was far too revealing, you couldn’t hide anything in it. And whenever someone came to take a look at your wound, which undoubtedly would be quite often, they would see more than necessary, which was foolish and stupid. No, you kept your clothes on, the blood be damned. At least in sweatpants, a long-sleeved shirt and then an added hoodie, you could hide most of your body from view. 

There was an added beep in the room, and then the door swung open to welcome nurse Banner into the room. He was smiling softly, like most times you had seen him. He looked from you to the monitor, scribbling something down on a clipboard. 

“How you feeling, Harper?” 

Like I wanna bash my head against the glass. 

“Fine, sir.” 

Bruce looked down at the gown where it hung, taking it in his hand. He looked at you accusingly. 

“Thought I told you to change?”

His voice wasn’t hostile or chiding. More like he was faking assertiveness to get a smile from you, which you forcefully painted on, the sting of pain blooming. 

“I’d rather keep what I’m wearing, if that’s okay?” you said, voice still a bit timid. 

You didn’t want to anger him or upset him, you knew better than to push a man, no matter how nice he had been in the past. Nate had been nice too. In the beginning. 

Bruce let out a soft snort, his smile widening enough to show teeth. 

“Sure, sure,” he said. “I can ask for some clean ones to be brought down for you, if you like?” 

It was a kind offer. A tempting offer too. These clothes were due a wash, and the stale blood only added to the aroma. 

“Thank you, sir. That’s very kind.” 

“Same as what you’re wearing now?” he asked. 

You nodded, forcing your cheeks to widen your smile. You didn’t overdo it, the split in your lip wouldn’t allow it, and you could only muster so much politeness in one go. Besides, it wouldn’t look very real if you were suddenly a smiling sunflower with a stab wound, when you weren’t one _without_ a stab wound. 

“I’ll ask one of the officers to bring it when they come to check.” 

Oh. So, even in medical you weren’t free of their surveillance. It shouldn’t be surprising, but it still caught you somewhat off guard. You had hoped to get a good night’s sleep in their absence, a rest that didn’t entail keeping yourself on the edge, ready to wake up and defend yourself should you need it. Even when you had decided not to fight, not to struggle should anyone try and hurt you, it was hard to shut that part of your brain down. It was instinctual. 

Bruce came around to stand next to the bed, checking your venous catheter for any irritation or risk of being ejected. The entire time, you had to brace yourself for his touch, even though you knew the nurse wanted nothing else but help you. 

“Looks good,” he said, letting your hand fall back down on the mattress. 

He checked the bag of fluids hanging from the rod behind your bed, flicking at it to make sure it was dripping as it should. He looked pleased with it, and backed off. You weren’t sure if he was keeping his distance out of fear for what you might do (you were a violent inmate after all), or out of respect. Whichever it was, you were glad for the distance. 

“Alright,” he said with a sigh. “It is now nine thirty, which means lights out. I’ll still be here for about an hour, and after that there’s gonna be a night nurse to take over for me. She’ll spend most of her time in psyche, but if there’s anything you need when she’s not here, just push this button.”

Bruce pointed to a green button on the side of the bars on the bed. It was right by your hand, which meant it could be reached even if the patient was cuffed to the bed. That’s what the bars were for. You averted your eyes, not wanting to remember the threat of being cuffed to the bed. You hoped that Bruce wasn’t going to say that all patients were literally locked in place during the night, because he looked like he hadn’t finished his speech yet. 

“The guards don’t come to check as frequently as in the dorms,” he continued. “We’re pretty far away from everything, but they’ll be here from time to time during the night. If there’s anything you’ll need, you can always ask them. They’ll get you a nurse if that’s what you need, too, but don’t be afraid to push that button. It’s there for a reason.” 

You nodded your understanding, looking forward to some alone time. Some real alone time. The fact that the nurse didn’t just sit on her ass in the room across the hall was a relief. You really didn’t need or want anymore looming faces watching your every move. 

“Thank you, sir,” you said. 

Bruce gave a nervous scoff, fiddling with his hands like he didn’t know what to do with himself. 

“Bruce is fine, you... you don’t have to call me ‘sir’.” 

Yes, you did. There was no way in hell that you were gonna be disrespectful and call a man by his first name. Especially not one who had been nothing but kind to you. You were going to reciprocate that kindness, and show him the respect he deserved. 

“With all due respect, sir... I do.” 

You didn’t want to be argumentative, but you needed him to know your point of view on the matter. Let him know that it wasn’t going to change, you weren’t going to, all of a sudden, stop being respectful to him. He had done many kind things for you, even though you hadn’t been truthful the entire time. But he didn’t seem to be particularly mad about that. 

Bruce just shut his mouth, his lips in a tight line but still smiling. 

“Okay, then,” he said, letting out something short of a scoff, but not quite a laugh either. 

He looked over at the cabinets, making sure that everything was locked and sealed, and that you wouldn’t be able to hurt yourself using anything he left laying around. He refocused on you, taking a step closer, coming up to your side again. Your injured side. 

“How does the wound feel?” he asked gently. “Any pain? Any irritation?” 

You had a feeling he wanted to look, but was asking out of compassion or respect for you. It wasn’t all that common in your life to have someone show you the same respect you showed them. But it was a welcomed addition. 

“No, it feels alright. I’m used to it.” 

Oh, why did you say that? What a stupid thing to say! Shame pooled in your belly, your stomached contracted like it was threatening to expel its contents. The nurse looked equally uncomfortable as you. Bruce had been nice enough not to comment or say anything about the scars, but now you had basically opened that door yourself, when all you wanted was to keep it shut, locked and barricaded. 

“Guess you are,” Bruce said, keeping his voice light. 

He saw how uneasy you were, probably not wanting to discuss that subject, with him or anyone else. He didn’t want to make you even more self-conscious than you were, so he dropped the subject, instead nodding to the IV drip. 

“That should be enough to last you through the night, but if at any time you feel the pain increase, or the meds just aren’t enough, just let us know, okay?” 

You smiled at him, mentally thanking him for not only passing on the opportunity to ask about your scars, but for making sure that you were pain-free. 

“Will do, sir.” 

“Do you need anything to help you sleep?” 

You were sure you were going to have some trouble actually going to sleep after a day like this, but to be influenced by drugs was a risk you simply could not take. You were a sitting duck as it were, and the only thing keeping you safe was you. 

“No thank you, sir. I’ll be fine.” 

Bruce nodded slowly, and started heading towards the door again, taking his clipboard with him. He turned to you just before he lifted his tag to the pad. 

“I’ll tell the nurse she won’t need to check your wound during the night. I’ll take a look when I come in tomorrow.” 

He didn’t wait for your answer, but just walked out, letting the door fall shut behind him and lock in place. 

Tension you didn’t think could be released, was. Your shoulder visibly sagged down, and you let out a deep sigh, letting your muscles relax from the strain of worry. No one was going to look at your body that hadn’t already seen it, at least not on nurse Banner’s watch. He seemed to understand – as much as one can – your hardship regarding your body. It wasn’t just shyness keeping you from blatantly flaunting yourself. It was pain. Shame and hurt. And so much more. More than you could ever even begin to explain. Then again, the tension leaving your body wasn’t all that surprising. 

Bruce’s last hour had passed, and you were left alone in the wing. He had given you a friendly wave goodbye before he left, which you returned in kind. Now it was just you. Alone. Until the officers would come down to make sure you were still here. It wasn’t like you had a choice, the door was locked after all. So, now, all you could do, was wait. 

O.o.O.o.O

This time, it was Bucky’s turn to pay you a visit. Steve seemed to have had enough for one day, and that added little mental detour to Iraq had done its part to drain his energy too. Not that you were a nuisance by any means, but it took its toll emotionally to constantly be reminded of their failures. Of their flaws. 

Banner had called the front desk, knowing at least someone was in that neighbourhood, and asked that the next officer coming to medical would bring you some new clothes. He had even listed the items wanted, to make sure that you were comfortable. Bucky had gladly accepted, wanting to lend a hand whenever he could and do his part to make you feel better, even if that was something as menial as bringing you fresh and clean clothes from the laundry. 

When he rummaged through the freshly washed and stacked clothes on the table, he got flashes of that night screaming in his mind. How you had screamed when he threw you onto the table, the muffled pleas falling from your mouth nonstop for them to show you mercy. He could even remember the sweet feel as he pushed into you. How your walls had squeezed him so tightly he thought he was going to cum right then and there. He hated how he missed it. That moment. Not the rest. Not like that. 

He picked out some clothes, guessing your size and choosing a loser fit rather than tight. He hoped they would be right, he’d hate to be the one to pick out the clothes which made you uncomfortable. But he suspected that anything clean and soft would suffice. He even checked several items of the same size to find the softest one to bring to you. He looked around the room, hoping to erase the memories and replace them with new ones. Of a simple laundry room. But he couldn’t. 

He told himself his heart didn’t beat any harder or faster as he walked down the hallways to get to you, after making another stop he had felt compelled to. Nor did he get slightly nervous about seeing you hurt once more. At least, that’s what he told himself. 

Before he entered the medical wing, he steadied himself. Braced himself for yet another meeting with you bleeding and in pain. He couldn’t help but feel to blame for this too. After all, had he been quicker on his feet this wouldn’t have happened in the first place. Diaz would be in the SHU nonetheless, just not with an added sentence, but that was just an added bonus after she hurt you, and Bucky didn’t feel bad for her whatsoever. 

He pushed the door open, and immediately looked through the window to find you laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. You hadn’t spotted him yet, but once the beep of the security pad keeping your door locked sounded, your head snapped to his direction. He leisurely walked in, the clothes resting on one arm held against his chest, smiling softly as to not freak you out, even though you didn’t meet his eyes. But the sound of the heart monitor let him know he had failed. 

The tension came back a tenfold at the sight of the officer, despite his calm and gentle demeanour. That steady beep which you hadn’t figured out if it was annoying or soothing, was suddenly nothing but stressful as it picked up its pace. And it didn’t help that you felt your heart hammering against your chest at the same speed. 

Bucky stopped a few feet away from you, his eyes darting up to the monitor for a quick glance at the nervous speed of your heart, before focusing on you, turning a deaf ear to your fear. He should be getting used to seeing you all bruised up by now, but that didn’t stop him from hating that nasty bruise and cut on your face. 

“I, uh...” he cleared his throat. “I brought you some new clothes. Banner called, and said that you wanted some clean clothes, so... here they are.”

He let out a nervous scoff through a smile, feeling like a blushing twelve-year-old where he stood all uncertain and unsure. He took a few steps closer, your heartrate speeding up to keep with his steps, and placed the clothes at the foot of the bed. 

“T-thank you, sir,” you said through the dryness of your throat. “That’s v-very kind.” 

You eyed the clothes laying by your feet like they were about to leap up and attack you. Was the officer about to order you to change right now, in front of him? Was he dying to see what Steve had already seen, and more? God, you hoped not. 

Bucky nodded, and nodded, and nodded. You were almost starting to wonder if there was something wrong with him, but you didn’t dare to ask. So, instead you waited to see if he was going to say anything else, or simply leave it at delivering clothes. 

He wasn’t sure if he should say anything regarding your case. He didn’t have any new information, you would be the first to know if there was any, Caputo would make sure of it. And the news hadn’t shown anything else, so he thought it best to not bring it up. Steve had mentioned that you had asked, and didn’t seem all that comfortable with the answers. If he was going to leave you in a better state, he’d have to say something relieving. 

He cleared his throat and finally stopped nodding his head. He tried to not let the quick beeping get to him, but it was almost screaming at him that it was all his fault. That he should be ashamed for making you this scared. And he was. He was guilt stricken and heartbroken, so the monitor could just shut up already. 

“We’re not gonna come down here and check on you during the night,” he said, uncertainty lacing his voice. “You could probably use the alone time, am I right?” 

Bucky gave you an unsure smile, feeling the guilt creep even higher, despite his efforts to simply make your life a little easier. Even if that meant more worry for him and Steve. They could survive a night without making sure that you were okay. There were nurses around to do that for them. 

“Figured you could use the rest,” he said, him smile softening, taking on a gentler form. 

You weren’t sure what he was getting at. Did he want you to accept the offer, or argue against it? Did he want you to ask for them to be there during the night, did he want to feel needed? Your expression must have let him know everything he needed to know, and he quickly continued before you could utter a word of confusion and fear. 

“It didn’t look like you got all that much to eat during dinner, so...” Bucky reached into the pocket of his trousers, pulling out a Twix. “Brought you this.” 

He smiled, charming and sweet as can be, and placed the chocolate on the table, next to your glass of water. He moved slow as to not startle you, but he noticed the flinch, even though you fought hard to not let it show. 

“It’s not much,” he said. “And it’s not really food, but I figured it was better than nothing. And I thought you might want some comfort after what happened. I remember you like those.” 

Yes, you did. You liked the chocolate bar, and the last time you had accepted one from an officer the entire gen pop had turned against you. They had called you names and accused you off heinous acts with officers for your own gain, threatened to do violence and then done said violence, and now you were in the medical wing with a stab wound and a split lip. But sure, yeah, you liked those. 

“Thank y-you, sir, that’s... That’s very kind of you, sir.” 

It felt like you were shooting yourself in the foot by accepting his offer. It was like a déjà vu moment, a chance to do over and not make the same mistake twice, but here you were. Cornered with superficial kindness. With a Twix as company. 

Bucky mentally scolded himself for making that stupid comment. It had seemed like a good idea at the time to get you one, a kindness shown in a time of need and pain. And who could refuse a sweet treat when they felt like shit? He certainly couldn’t. It had truly come from a kind place, out of the goodness of his heart. But he seemed to fall short even now. 

“You’re welcome,” he said, hoping you couldn’t hear his disappointment. 

He’d hate for you to misconstrued it. He was afraid that you would think he was in any way mad at you, or disappointed in you, when it was about himself and his own shortcomings. There seemed to be a lot of those nowadays. 

Bucky cleared his throat into his fist, looking about the room for a quick glance, his gaze shooting not once, but twice at the door behind him. 

“Well, I guess I should go,” he said softly, smiling uncertainly. “Let you get some rest.” 

He turned to the door, not wanting you to feel obligated to say anything back, or force even more politeness and correctness out of you. You never seemed to stumble on that line. But he turned around again, hoping that the movement he saw was just his own imagination and not you actually recoiling from him, again. It didn’t seem to matter how far away he got. You feared him nonetheless. 

“If there’s anything you need, anything at all, just... Just let us know, okay? We’ll take care of it. Anything at all.”

Everyone seemed to be in a giving mood tonight. First nurse Banner, then Steve, then Bucky. This was looking more and more like the Radisson, no matter what Mr. Healy had to say about it. Soon you’d be served food on a silver platter with a side of champagne, just to take the edge of the morphine. This place was either heaven or hell, no in between. It seemed more like you had taken up residency in purgatory. 

“T-thank you, sir,” you repeated, for the millionth time that day. 

Bucky quirked the corners of his mouth up at you, truly hating the ever-present fear laced in that politeness of yours, and left. He didn’t linger to make sure that the door locked behind him, because he knew that no matter what, you wouldn’t even attempt to leave. You were that scared, that petrified, that cornered, that you had lost even the will to try. That spark of life, that tinge of rebellion he saw in every inmate, no matter how nonviolent the crime. But not in you. He had seen it at first. He didn’t even need to look for it then. But now? Now it was gone. There wasn’t even a glimmer left. 

You watched the officer walk away, saw the tension trimming his shoulders and back when he turned away from you. He looked troubled. And you hated that you cared. But after years and years of being the punching bag for someone very tightly wound, you had learned to keep an eye out for any sign indicating upcoming pain. That was it. Nothing more. 

You eyed the Twix laying there on the table, mocking you with its golden wrapper and glistening shimmer, daring you to eat it. If you didn’t, you feared the officer would take it as an insult. If you did, you feared he would take it as an accepted peace offering. Bridge the gap so to speak. And that could be seen as an invitation from you for them to become friendlier, closer. Damned-if-I-do-damned-if-I-don’t. Again. 

But anger was more dangerous. It hurt more. It was more violent, stronger. So, you ate the Twix. Savouring every second of its soft chocolatey cover, its crumbling cracker and chewy caramel. If only it held no significance. Then you could have enjoyed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU for reading <3 <3 <3
> 
> I can't believe this story is 30 chapters long already, and we are not even close to the end... You guys are the most amazing fans any author could ask for <3


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened with the leaked footage...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, okay, another chapter where I can't stop picking at it, keep adding things and reading it so many times I can't see anything anymore... I hope it's up to par with the rest, but no matter what, this thing wanted to get written! 
> 
> Sorry it's so long, but hey, shit happens! 
> 
> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Blood, yelling, depression, mentions of rape, mentions of trauma and the aftermath. 
> 
> If you don't like people screaming or crying DO NOT READ! This is an emotional chapter so take care!

Three days. Three days you had been laying in a hospital bed down at the medical wing. For three days, no one but nurse Banner had looked at your wound, or checked any part of your body. For three days, you had been alone. Except for a few inmates coming down for checks for various reasons, but they weren’t in the same room, and didn’t even throw a glance at you through the window. For three days, you had been left in peace. 

Officer Roger and Barnes had left you alone that night. They hadn’t come down to check on you, they had kept their word. Of course, the same couldn’t be said for the other nights when other guards worked, but you had appreciated that night regardless. Only the night nurse had payed you visits, doing her job as quietly as possible as to not disturb you. Though you woke every single time she entered, you had still slept the remaining hours. You hadn’t felt so rested in months. The time spent in the SHU had been mentally and psychologically challenging, whereas this was just plain old boring. How you had missed plain old boring. 

Your wound had started to heal nicely. It was itching constantly, and you had to pat around the area just to keep from scratching. It wasn’t anything new, you knew this process like the back of your hand. First the initial pain, then the throbbing, then the pull, then the itch, and then more itching, and then, just to mix things up, even more itching. Eventually there would be nothing but soreness, like a bruise, until your body had healed altogether. 

It had healed many times. It had healed all sorts of cuts, burns, bruises and wounds. There was nothing your body had been subjected to, that it couldn’t heal from. When it was broken, it healed. It fixed itself. But your mind couldn’t fix itself. 

People don’t seem to understand what happens to you after trauma. They really don’t understand what happens after multiple traumas. When it doesn’t stop. When no matter what you do, no matter how much care you put in to keep yourself from being harmed, trying to protect yourself from the pain, it still doesn’t stop happening. It doesn’t go away. No matter what you do. And your mind can’t heal from that. 

It doesn’t stop. The worrying. The constant fear of absolutely everything. The anxiety doesn’t leave its burrow in your chest. It takes up residency, and slowly chokes you to death. Your body starts to shut down, cutting off life-support to make you realize that you are dying. To get you to understand. And yet, you don’t. Not until it’s too late. 

You had been kept down at medical for your own protection. You weren’t sure if the nurse was just overly kind towards you and wanted to give you some time, or if you were just a hazard on two legs for everyone working at the prison. Regardless, you were kept separate from everyone. You were even served food in your bed, to keep you from moving around the camp if not utterly necessary. You were like a caged animal. An attraction at the zoo. Being fed from a tray carried by a smiling nurse. 

It had been like this for three days now. No one but the guards and the nurses had accompanied you. No visitors, no friendly hospital bed-mate nagging you or even making polite small talk. Not that you had any delusions of the type of talk going around the prison. You were quite sure that you were subject of most conversations, and honestly relieved to not have anyone in the bed next to you. You didn’t need to hear any more rumours, or tales. 

A shadow moved across the floor, making you look up at the window, spotting Mr. Caputo. He held his tag against the pad, and opened the door with his shoulder. His stripy, brown suit did zero favours for his still athletic body, despite being in his late fifties. It brought out the grey strands in both his moustache and receding hairline, which only added to his aging. 

“Good morning, Harper,” he said, pocketing his hands once he was stood in front of your bed. 

“Good morning, sir,” you said, your voice carrying uncertainty, but was still more audible than when speaking to the officers. 

Joe smiled at you, seemingly unsure as to what to say. His gaze bopped around the floor, and a hand snuck up to pat at his moustache in a calming manner. You eyed him carefully, but made sure to keep a straight face as to not seem pushy or agitated. He would speak in his own time. 

“I, uh...” he started uncomfortably, before he smiled and seemed to change the subject. “How are you feeling?”

It didn’t sound like that had been his leading question or topic of choice, but for some reason he had changed his mind and redirected. Had he gotten a call from your lawyer Howard? Were there any news about... anything? He looked awkward where he stood, his rouge hand still dragging across his face-furniture. 

“I-I’m alright, sir. Thank you for asking.”

Caputo nodded, eyes still searching for any purchase that would make him look like a lunatic. He didn’t exactly look like a lunatic, but he did look like a fish out of water. 

“Good,” he said with a nervous exhale. “That’s... that’s good. Of course, I cannot say anything regarding the inmates involved in the attack, but rest assure, they are all being held accountable.” 

Translation; we know who did it, and we told them off. You doubted there were any severed repercussions, but at least both CO Rogers and Barnes had seen Aleida Diaz shove that shiv into your belly. She was bound to get the most of the tongue lashing. 

You didn’t say anything, you didn’t want to interrupt the man when he was speaking. Besides, he looked like he had enough trouble finding his footing without you making distracting noise. You dreaded what news he carried. Was it something from Howard? Had he fixed a court date yet? 

Caputo cleared his throat, looking directly at you. He eyed the bruise and cut on your lip, but didn’t comment on it, instead cutting straight to the point.

“Your lawyer is still working on getting everything set up for your hearing. It’s a... complicated mess, as I’m sure you understand. The police are involved, your medical records are being reviewed, and a lot of people need to read up on your case, but... it’s getting there.” 

Dread seized you, suffocating you. Just the thought of having to talk about any of it again was paralyzing. It had been hard enough the first time around, and a lot of things had changed since then. You had changed. Your body and mind alike. The adrenaline that had made you persevere the first time around was nowhere to be found, and wouldn’t be found even if you looked actively for it. Too much had changed. There was no way you could survive this all over again. Not after everything that had happened. 

Before, Nate had been the monster. It was just him, and now he was dead. He was gone. He couldn’t hurt you again. But that wasn’t the case anymore. Your view on the world had changed. Again. The fear had spread, latched onto every single person living in the world. There wasn’t just _a_ monster anymore. The monsters were everywhere. And if you were out there, out in the world with them... you would die. 

Caputo judged your silence as a que to go on, and so he did. 

“It’s a process, and it takes time, but we are doing everything we can to move things along,” he said, trying to reassure you of your nearing salvation. “There isn’t much we can do for you at the moment, not before Howard hears anything back... However, there is something I hope will bring you some comfort until then.” 

What’s that? Another Twix? You doubted you would ever even look at another golden chocolate bar in your life after the officers’ kind gestures. 

“You have a visitor.” 

O.o.O.o.O

Time away from the prison had done them both some good, and some bad. Steve had slept like a baby for sixteen hours straight, and once he got up, he simply changed locations, and fell asleep on the couch with a rerun of Breaking Bad playing in the background. Bucky had had to double his sleeping pills to get any shuteye at all. Thoughts interrupted whenever he came close to the edge of sleep, screaming at him what a failure he was. He almost envied Steve’s mental trauma flaring up. At least it was tiring. But his own trauma was still kept safely locked away in his subconscious. 

Bucky was currently away on a run, one of many, as Steve was busy making a chicken pot pie for dinner. He liked cooking food that cooked itself, at least partly, so he usually opted for dishes made in the oven. His mind was wandering as he chopped the mushrooms, knowing the recipe like the back of his hand sadly had that effect. 

It was the usual mixture of memories; Millers, and how he had managed to hid that side of him, the taunting both he and Bucky subjected you to, before the finale of raping you in the laundry. Anything good he had done, be it the attempts to make up for his faults done to you, or everything that had happened in Iraq, were melting together with the bad, clouding everything into a muddy mess.

Little did he know – but he would have betted on it though – that the same thing was going on inside Bucky’s brain. At least before he started blaring music into his earbuds, trying to drown out the loudness of his mind. It helped a little. Even better when he started focusing on the lyrics instead of his own thoughts, singing along in his head. 

His feet ate up the ground quickly, moving faster and faster the louder he had to sing along to keep the voice out. Before he knew it, he was full on running for his life. He ran and ran, shutting his eyes hard to keep reality out. But it didn’t work. The voice, his own voice, was screaming over the music. _You failed her._

He opened his eyes just in time to spot the car on the road ahead, just managing to stop before he crashed right into it. 

“Watch it, idiot!” the driver shouted at him, before taking off with screeching tires. 

Bucky stood frozen on the spot, eyes following the car without really seeing it. He just stood there, breathing hard and heavy, trying to make any sense of what had just happened. When he couldn’t find anything else to blame but his own chaotic mind, he simply started to head home again. And this time, he couldn’t keep the voice quiet. 

Soft music was playing from inside the house, Bucky could hear it once he slowed down on the driveway. It didn’t sound like the music either of them listened to, so he figured Steve must have the radio on. Bucky walked the few steps of the stairs with heavy feet, feeling more out of it than he should after a run. He opened the door, coming into the hallway by the kitchen, and found Steve stir-frying some kale with his back to him. He turned his head over his shoulder without stopping the movement of his hand with the spatula, finding a beat Bucky sweating and panting behind him. 

“How was the run?” he asked, focusing again on his pan. 

Bucky threw his iPod on the counter and reached for a glass to fill with water. The tap was fogged over already, indicating Steve had prepped it with ice cold water. 

“It was good,” he lied though a deep exhale, filling his glass up. “Before I almost died.” 

Steve’s head snapped to Bucky just as he turned around to lean his side against the counter, downing the water like a man parched. 

“What?”

Bucky nodded as he swallowed the big gulp of the life-giving fluid, reaching back to fill it up again. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Almost ran into a car speeding down the road. Luckily I saw it before he hit me.” 

Steve moved the kale onto the chopping board, knowing the procedure well enough to do it in his sleep. 

“Lost in thought?” he asked. 

Bucky felt like he was almost bursting with the need for a fight, or even an argument would suffice. The tightness in his chest never seemed to go away, no matter how much he pondered things over in his mind. He needed to say things out loud, but he just couldn’t handle the shame that came with it. 

“Something like that,” he said instead, setting the glass down a bit too loud, before heading to the shower. 

Steve had seen this side of Bucky before. He had seen it in himself too. That cold, fired up look in his eyes with a stoic face to keep up appearances, while inside it was a warzone. The reasons for it had grown too, ever since you. They had many things to battle within themselves, and the fight was never-ending. Sometimes they could busy their minds enough to not think about it for a while. But in the end, it always came back. It was like another entity living with them in that house, darkening their days and turning their nights into terror. 

So Steve knew better than to add to that. Bucky would talk to him in his own time, no matter if he wanted to or not. If he didn’t ease some of that pressure soon, he would explode. But whichever it may be when the day comes, Steve would be there to take the heat. 

The water was as cold as the glasses he’d had to quench his thirst. Anything to take the pain away, to numb him from reality. When the body is put under stress, it focuses on simply staying alive, not having the time or energy to waste on anything else. It was like hotwiring your mind for Bucky. Overriding the mainframe. He drained his energy as much as he could, just so he didn’t have to think. So he didn’t have to feel. 

Dinner was pretty silent if it wasn’t for the endless loop of 2 and a half men playing on the tv-screen. They let it take centre stage in their evening, let it consume every conversation, thought and feeling. At least as much as it could. That, and Steve’s pot pie. 

Both had eaten more than they should, hoping the stuffed feeling would help them sleep, aided with some sleeping pills of course. They had to work in the morning. The first shift back after being gone for three days. The first shift after you were attacked by another inmate. How were you? Had something else happened in their absence, or were you still safe in the medical wing? They had a million questions, a million worries swimming in their heads, it was hard to find any peace. But eventually, the pills and exhaustion won out. 

Going from the nightshift to the dayshift was brutal. Both Bucky and Steve felt slow and sluggish, and no matter how many cups of coffee they downed, they never really seemed to wake up completely. They had done their best to turn back their circadian rhythm the days leading up, but the first day back was still a struggle. 

The hours passed like tar through an hourglass. The inmates were loud, and everyone seemed to have forgotten the rules; both mouthing off and running through the halls. Both officers were up to three shots already and counting, and it wasn’t even noon yet. At least they had someone to take their grumpiness out on. 

They hadn’t seen you at breakfast, or anywhere they had patrolled, including your dorm, so they assumed you were still safely tucked away in medical. They wouldn’t lie and say they weren’t relieved, but they would be calmer if they were able to see for themselves that you were in fact safe. 

They spotted their captain further down the hall, looking like a man on a mission. Steve looked hopefully at Bucky, who looked back just the same, both thinking that maybe they could fish for some information. And Caputo seemed pretty pleased to see them too. They hadn’t gotten a chance to really speak about the attack. 

“Ah,” Caputo said, aiming towards them rather than passed. “Barnes, Rogers.” 

“Joe,” Steve said with a nod, Bucky nodding at his side. 

Caputo wasn’t the kind of man to take offence to his first name being used. He had been one of them before, on the floor, ‘walking his beat’ so to speak, so he liked the equality of it. Though the officers mostly went by their last names, he felt it was too arrogant-sounding in his current position. 

“Good to have you back,” Joe said with a smile. “Things have been crazy around here lately.”

“No more stabbings, I hope,” Bucky said, with a smile that read both of underlying worry as well as lightness. 

“No, no, thank god. A few squabbles here and there, but nothing as serious as what happened with Harper, thankfully. Though everyone seems to be on their toes, everyone’s acting out.” 

“So we noticed,” Steve said, raising an irritated eyebrow at the mention, his fists tightening under his biceps as he crossed his arms. 

Caputo nodded, knowing full and well how exhausting it can be to deal with unruly inmates. 

“Maybe it’s the holidays closing in that’s doing it,” he said, almost apologetically. “Everyone gets a bit tense around the holidays, don’t they?” 

Both officers nodded, remembering more than they wanted to about the latest one. Everyone found faults were there were none, anything to have a reason to mouth off or act out. 

“Speaking of Harper,” Steve said, hoping he was sneaky enough in his mention. “Any word on how she’s doing?”

Joe nodded, scratching the back of his head. 

“She’s good according to Banner. Actually, I was on my way down there right now. There...” he cleared his throat, and lowered his voice. “There has been some progress regarding her, well, case. Some clarity as to what happened with the footage. I, I can’t really specify, as I’m sure you understand.” 

They understood just fine. They were just glad to hear that some progress had been made, and that it wasn’t at a complete standstill. Cases like these were complicated, and could take more time than the inmate could afford. And by the looks of things, your time was running out. But they were glad to hear that you were okay. 

“Sure,” Bucky said. 

“Of course,” Steve added for good measure. 

Joe nodded, thankful to have his trusted guards back on duty. Rogers and Barnes had been more than helpful in the past, and this time was no exception. No two officers had been as involved in you and your care as them. As least to his knowledge. 

“She has a visitor,” he informed them, watching their faces turn into a look of confusion and curiosity. “And seeing it’s not a visitation day, I need a few more guards to supervise the meet. I already have Wilson by the intake, he’s discreet and can keep a low profile, but I would like to have you both in the room with them. If you wouldn’t mind, of course.”

Both men felt a spark of hope light up in their chests. A visitor meant motivation, a drive to get better, to heal. Any reason that would give you the strength to keep fighting was a celebrated one. 

Caputo checked the watch on his wrist, noticing the time was ticking by. The window of opportunity was only as big as he could make it, and he didn’t want to waste any of it talking. And the officers seemed to notice his haste, speaking just as Joe started to pass them, awaiting an answer before he left. 

“Yes,” Steve said. “Yes, of course.” 

“Anything we can do to help,” Bucky said, smiling at the relieved look on Caputo’s face. 

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll-I’ll go talk to her right away, and we’ll be there in ten.”

With that, Joe hurried off with rushing steps down the hall. He looked stressed, as well as eager, probably equally as glad for you to have a visitor as both Steve and Bucky were. Joe Caputo was nothing if not a kind soul. 

“Who do you think it is?” Bucky asked, just as they started heading towards the visitation room. 

Steve shrugged. “No idea. Her mom? Her dad maybe?”

“Didn’t her mom remarry?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean the ex is dead, though,” Steve countered. 

“Good point,” Bucky admitted, throwing the door open to the empty room. 

The visitation area was just a room filled with tables and chairs, differing from two seats to six. There was a desk for the overseeing officer with an overlook of the entire room, but Steve and Bucky both took their places at the two doors to the room. One at the entry for the inmates, and one for the visitor coming from the hallway off the intake. That hallway was fenced with vending machines and drink stations to make them welcomed and comfortable, but it was mostly brought to the inmates since the prices at commissary were jacked up. 

Bucky stood by the visitor’s door, and Steve waited by the one you would come through. They were there to keep you safe, and there was no coming in that room without having to go through at least one of them. 

They heard footsteps approaching in the corridor behind Bucky, both keeping an eager ear out for anything else, but it was silent. The shape of a man appeared through the windows to the corridor, CO Wilson, then another man following behind. Sam stopped just a few steps short of the entry door, holding his hand out to allow the man to pass. He nodded gratefully, and stepped into the room. 

O.o.O.o.O

Mr. Caputo hadn’t said who it was that was here to see you. He said he wanted it to be a surprise. You hated surprises. They never led to anything good. They usually led to pain, or suffering. Like having flesh torn from your body to leave a mark so deep that it would never truly heal. 

Walking hurt, but you were used to it. Caputo had seemed almost taken aback at your lack of wincing or complaining, figuring that you should be in quite a bit of pain. And you were. You just knew better than to show it. Pain was not something you flaunted. It was best kept hidden. 

You had been given a new set of clothes earlier in the morning, and left in peace to change undisturbed. You had even been granted a shower in a private bathroom. The door didn’t lock, but the privacy made up for that worry. Nevertheless, you had been as quick as ever, turning away from the mirror to keep from seeing the state of your body. 

The wound was still healing, the skin around it pink and irritated but the stitches were still holding. They pulled a bit as you walked, but you could take it. Compared to what you had been forced to deal with in the past, this was the equivalent of a puppy’s bite. 

Your lip was still split. The skin refused to fully seal, and any tug too forceful would cause it to bleed. The bruise was tender, but the edges were yellowing nicely. It would probably be gone within a few days. You hoped whoever it was that had come to see you, wouldn’t take offence to how you looked. After all, it was all your fault, right? It was always your fault. 

Mr. Caputo walked silently beside you, looking down at you more often than not, and you could see a shy smile on his face. He was happy. Excited. Most likely for you, but you knew better than to get your hopes up for any surprises coming your way. 

He led you towards the visitation area. You had passed it a few times before, but never really lingered. It just reminded you of your misfortune. Of the lack of people caring about you. But for some reason, someone was here to see you. 

He stopped you just outside the room with a light hold of your arm, but it was enough to make you seize up. The tension sent a rush of pain through your abdomen, the painkillers wearing thin when not steadily supplied. You subconsciously flexed your good hand which carried the catheter, missing the flow of numbness. 

“Alright,” Joe said with an upbeat voice, but still keeping his tone low. “There are two officers in the room with you. They will stay during the entire visit, making sure that everything goes accordingly.” 

What did that mean? Was this some kind of meeting? Was Howard here? No, Caputo wouldn’t have called that a surprise. God, it wasn’t some kind of interview, was it? You swallowed dryly, feeling the anxiety grow in your chest. 

“You ready?”

Joe placed what was supposed to be a calming hand on your shoulder, but you wanted nothing more than to shrink away from his touch. 

“Y-yes, sir,” you said, and Caputo let you go. 

You walked through the first door, and into the lock. Before Joe could leave, you met Steve in the doorway, blocking you from entering the visitation room. 

“Joe,” he called out, moving as far away from you as possible, both out of kindness and privacy. 

Caputo turned on his heel, looking from Steve to you to make sure everything was okay. You just looked at the wall, waiting for the men to finish their conversation. Steve leaned far away enough so you couldn’t hear what he said. 

“What, uh... what about the strip-search after? Is there a female officer around?” 

Caputo ran his fingers over his moustache like he always did when he was anxious, making sure you were still facing away and not listening. 

“I thought we could skip it,” he whispered, watching Steve’s reaction, which was a simple agreeing nod. “Given the circumstances. Let’s spare her the inconvenience. Just... Just keep an eye out for any exchanges, and it should be alright.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve said, and Caputo left. 

Steve went back to his post, giving you a gentle smile as he made to pass you before beckoning you in after him. Bucky waited with a nervous patience as Steve reappeared by the door. Both officers took a deep breath at your arrival, readying themselves for what was to come. 

But you had no way of preparing yourself for who you saw sitting there at a table in the middle of the room. His face looked aged and tired since the last time you saw him, his brows furrowed in worry. His dark hair looked tussled, like he had dragged his fingers through it one too many times. He looked weak, scared almost. Nothing like the man you remembered. 

At the sight of you walking through the door, coming to a stop just beside officer Rogers, he stood from his chair. You felt the prickle of tears begin to sting your eyes.

“Jared?”

You hadn’t seen your stepfather since that night. The night that Nate died. The night you killed his son. He had left you, abandoned you to stay with his son’s body. He had chosen to stay with the dead, instead of nurture and care for the living. And here he was now. Staring at you with tears in his usually light and grey eyes, and his breath caught in his throat just from laying eyes on you. 

“Jess...” he said with a deep sigh, and you practically threw yourself into his arms. 

He held you, arms tight around you as he cried into your hair. He breathed in your scent, remembering all the years he’d had with you and your mom as his family. And you were so relieved, so revived just to see him, that you didn’t care about the strain in your abdomen from keeping yourself locked to him, to stay in his embrace. You didn’t care about any of it. 

Bucky and Steve couldn’t help the smile creeping across their faces at the sight before them. You looked so comforted by your stepfather, so safe and secure. The tears on your face were from relief, from gratefulness, not pain. They felt almost like they were imposing on such an intimate moment, but at the same time they wanted nothing more than to keep seeing you so happy. 

Jared let you go, keeping you close to him as he cupped your face in his hands, taking in your features. You had changed to much. You looked so pained, so tired. Almost defeated. 

“I’m so happy to see you,” he said through his tears, sniffling when you smiled up at him. 

“I’m glad to see you, too,” you said, surprised at how light your voice was. 

You knew the officers were watching you. You could feel their eyes on you, but you didn’t care. Jared was here, and there was nothing they could do to ruin that. Though you would have appreciated having other guards overseeing the visit, you were just glad to have your stepdad there with you. 

“Let’s sit,” he said, reluctantly letting go of you. 

You both sat on opposite sides of the table, hands held tightly together on the surface of it, fingers intertwining. He squeezed your hands every now and then, like he was making sure that he wasn’t just imagining you there. But your smile, your tear-streaked face and glossy eyes were as real as ever. And so was the drop of blood coming from your lip. 

“Oh...” he said, lifting a finger to point at your face. “You’re-you’re bleeding.” 

Instinctually, you grabbed the sleeve of your shirt to pat away the stray drop, not caring about the stain. Jared smiled at you, almost happy for another proof of your realness. 

“It’s so good to see you,” he said, his voice still carrying the sign of tears. 

It was more than good to see him. To look at his face and not see anger, or betrayal when he looked back at you. To have him look at you with happiness, with relief. 

“It’s great to see you too.” 

You fought the tears still stuck in your throat, choked words working their way out. Jared smiled at you tenderly, and you could almost swear you saw a blush blooming. He didn’t say anything, he just looked down at the table. You took the opportunity to really take him in, really see him. And the worry in his body was obvious when you did, but you didn’t want to think about it right now. 

“What are you doing here?” you said through a tearful smile, sniffling to get rid of the wetness, but failing miserably. “How’s mom? Have you gone to see her?” 

God, you hoped he had. She deserved to have some company, no matter if she could remember the man visiting her or not. She loved him, _had_ loved him, and having him visit would probably bring a smile to her face. 

“She’s good, she’s fine,” he said with a smile. “As good as can be expected, anyway.” 

You nodded, glad to hear she was okay, but saddened at the mention of the circumstances. No matter how old you are, no matter how well you can cope and deal with life, there will never be a time when you don’t want your mom. And you would never have that again. But you didn’t want the sadness to take over, so you focused on the parent in front of you. 

“What about you?” you almost laughed out, feeling ridiculous and careless at the same time. “How are you, Jared?”

Bucky and Steve had both had training in reading body language. It was a useful skill, and one that had saved their lives and the lives of others many times before. And they could both see the uneasiness draping Jared’s body. He was nervous, not excited. You on the other hand, looked happier than they had ever seen you. 

They both shared a look from time to time. A look that let the other know exactly what they were thinking, what they were seeing. Their vigilant eyes and ears kept searching for anything worrying, their protective instincts kicking in. They hated the prying, at least when it came to you, but it was part of their job. It was hard to keep their own emotions at check, but they managed. 

Jared exhaled through a crooked smile, a hand coming up to dry away his tears. 

“I’m... I’m good, I... It’s just so good to see you, Jess.” 

You couldn’t help but feel like he was postponing something. Like he was buying time for some reason. You pushed the feeling away, not wanting anything to spoil the moment. 

“Why are you here?” you asked, before adding; “I mean, why haven’t you come before?” 

Jared’s smile faded, and his face twisted into worry and apprehension. So, he really was stalling. You had figured that he was mad at you, that he was hating you for what happened with Nate. You hadn’t expected to see him at all. But here he was. So, that meant he must have forgiven you. Right? 

He looked around awkwardly, eyes jumping from both officer Rogers and Barnes, the table, the floor and you. He preferred the floor or the table it would seem; anything without eyes. He understood the need for the officers, he knew they had to be there, but he wouldn’t have minded the privacy when dealing with a sensitive matter like what he was about to say. 

“I, uh...” he stared, having trouble facing you. “I needed to see you.”

Still with a smile, your brows furrowed. 

“Why?” 

Jared drew a deep breath, before letting it out again. 

“I...” Again, he stopped himself. 

He raked his fingers through his hair, ruffling the strands without a care for how he looked. His hand travelled down over his face, stopping at his mouth, covering it, his other hand still safely tucked into yours.

“God, this is so hard...” he whispered. 

Now you were worried. Had something happened? He had said that your mom was fine, but maybe there was something he was keeping from you. Or was this about what you had done? About that night?

Steve and Bucky looked on, the worry evident even on their faces now, but they didn’t care. You weren’t paying them any attention, and neither was your stepfather. So, they just waited to hear what he had to say, as did you. 

“What?” you asked, voice now shaky for a whole other reason. 

Jared met your eyes, new tears forming. 

“There’s something I need to tell you.” 

Every possible horrible thing swirled through your mind. Everything that had happened between you and him, and you and his son. Was there something you had missed? Was is something about Jared himself? 

“Okay...” you said, careful as to keep your voice low. 

It was almost engraved in you at this point. Literally. You knew the consequences of speaking too loudly, of making noise when you shouldn’t. So, you kept your voice low, just waiting for him to go on. 

He seemed to struggle to find his words. Or maybe it was the nature of them that had him worried. But with a deep breath, he found the strength to meet your eyes, not caring about the watchful eyes of the officers. 

“I’m sure you have h-heard that... Heard about the videos.” 

Oh. It was about that. About what people had seen, what everyone had learned about you. What you had tried to keep hidden, keep safe, but was now out in the world for everyone to see. Your shame. The puppet on a string. There for everyone else’s entertainment. 

The presence of Steve and Bucky became more apparent than ever. You could almost feel their eyes burning a hole in your skull. It weighed heavily on you. Reminded you of their control, their power. You had to sit there, breaking, in front of them. 

You looked down at the table, and nodded. Jared nodded too, but you didn’t see it. 

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, okay, okay... uhm... They... You... you had mentioned that they existed to the police.” Again, you nodded. “But, uh... they couldn’t find any of it... when they came to look for it.” 

They had claimed that you had made it all up. That you had lied to buy time, to lead them astray and redirect their focus away from you. They had searched every inch of your parents’ house, as well as Nate’s new apartment, and never found any trace of either videos or pictures. They hadn’t even found his phone, which you knew contained numerous photos and clips. 

Jared went on, his fingers clinging to yours to find any hint of comfort. To you, it was a chain linked with comfort. Part helpful, part hurtful. 

“And the reason they couldn’t find any of it... was...” he took a deep breath. “Because I took them.” 

Your eyes shot up to his, and you froze. The breath seized in your chest as you looked at the man in front of you, crying. His knuckles were turning white from the pressure with which he held his own jaw. He was moving slightly back and forth, rocking in his chair, blinking away tears. He wanted so bad to look away from you, but he couldn’t. 

“What...?” 

You weren’t even sure you had said anything, but going by his reaction, which was another flood of tears down his face, he had heard you. 

“I took them,” he said again, forcing the words out before his voice gave in. “And hid them from the police. I didn’t want anyone to see them. I-I didn’t want anyone to see my son do that. Not my son.” 

He shook his head, over and over as he cried. His hand fell from his mouth back down to find your hands, but you drew them back. You wrestled your fingers free of his, leaning back, leaning away from him, as the first teardrops fell silently from your eyes. 

He was the reason you were in prison. He was the reason you had been called a liar, a murderer, and everything else the police had deemed fit whilst you were in their custody. Their words were similar to everything Nate had called, everything both officer Barnes and Rogers had called you. Two men you would have never met had it not been for Jared, and what he had done. He was the reason. 

Steve and Bucky both drew a big, deep breath of disbelief, their eyes shooting to each other. Nate’s father was the one who had done this? Bucky fought hard to not intervene and end the visit right then and there, his fist balling up. Steve felt his muscles tightening, the strain clearly visible through his shirt. But both stood their ground, and stayed where they were. This was not up to them. 

“You leaked the footage...?” you whispered, not believing what you were hearing. 

Jared looked like he had been slapped. 

“No,” he almost shouted. “No, no, no, no, no, I-I just... I.I couldn’t hold onto them anymore. I couldn’t b-bare to know that I-I w-was keeping something hidden, that could help you, that could... that _would_ get you out of prison. So, I gave it to the authorities, but h-h-how any of it got leaked, I have no idea, I swear.”

He searched your face for any sign indicating that you had heard him. When he found none, when you said nothing and only stared at him with hollow eyes, he started begging. 

“Please, Jess, you gotta believe me... I would never do that to you. Please, I... I panicked, I... I didn’t know what to do! I didn’t want people to know what my son did, what he had done... But, but I came to my senses, and, and I-I handed everything over to the police.” 

What the hell was happening? What were you hearing? Was he seriously sitting there, defending his actions to you? Was he seriously asking you to forgive him for what he had done? Did he want your praise because he had finally done the right thing? When it was already too late. 

Your brows twitched in their places as you tried to make sense of the situation. Tried to find any trace of truth. 

“You.... took, and hid... everything that proved that I was telling the truth, to protect the memory of your son?” Jared just looked at you with pain, not denying it. “Do you know what he did to me?”

Jared wanted to sink through the floor from the weight of your gaze. He had never felt more ashamed, more disappointed in his entire life. How he wished his answer would be different. 

“Yes,” he said through a sob. “And I’m so, so sorry, Jess! I never meant for things to get this bad, I-I... I never thought that you would be this hurt.”

The first time seeing you in prison, incarcerated, and you were sitting across from him with a split lip and a swollen bruise on your chin and cheek. Something that could have been avoided had you not been here. Not been in prison.

Hurt melded with fear. 

Fear melded with anger. 

And anger won. 

“You didn’t think that I would be hurt in prison?” you spat at him. “This is _prison_ , Jared. Do you have any idea what it’s been like for me in here? What has happened to me? I just came up from medical after being stabbed! I have been threatened, and starved, and beaten, and—” 

No! You couldn’t say it. You couldn’t say anything about the rape, not even speak the word. Especially not when the two officers responsible for the deed were stood only a few feet away from you, blocking every exit and looking tense beyond belief. But you kept with the anger directed at Jared, the hurt breaking through your words as you went on.

“And all... for this? So you could keep your precious memories, and not have to face who your son really was?”

You looked at him, but he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes. He scrunched his eyes up, tears falling over the edge as he cradled his head in his hands. He wanted to run, wanted to be anywhere but in that very room. Had he no shame? He had no right to be the hurt one in this situation. This was not done _to him_. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The words left your mouth before you knew it, but you didn’t even try to take them back. You deserved answers. 

“Jess, please...” he said through sobs. “I am so sorry, I... I-I just wanted to remember my son in a good way, I wanted people to remember him in a good way, like a good person. I wanted to remember him for who he was to me.”

Who he was to him? To his father, Nate was nothing but kind, and giving and caring. To his father, Nate was nothing short of perfect. He never let anything show of who he truly was. Who he was inside, or what his desires were. Of course, he wanted to remember him like that. It was so much easier than the truth. 

“Do you know what he was to me?” you asked, your words almost venomous.

You found that you cared little for how you sounded, or how you looked, or how you acted. In this moment, you had learned that the man who had come close to being like a father to you, had betrayed you to protect a fucking memory. He had chosen a ghost over you. So he deserved to hear the truth. 

“He was a monster to me. A rapist.” 

Jared sobbed at the mention, crying into his hands. His felt shame like no other. And it didn’t help that he had the eyes of the officers on him, not stepping in even as your voice rose, tears falling from your eyes for a variety of reasons. 

“I was thirteen years old the first time he raped me,” you informed him, watching everything hit him like punches on a punching bag. “Fifteen the first time he brought his friends to join. I remember everything he ever did to me. I remember the first time he tore my clothes off... And how he beat me when I didn’t do exactly what he said. Or how hard he kicked me the first time I didn’t try to fight him.” 

You watched Jared crumble before your very eyes, breaking with every word of truth you had to say. Everything you had never dared to say out loud. All the things you’d had to bear in silence, for years. Your shame. 

“He said I was boring him, that it was no fun if I didn’t at least try. And I remember how he took pictures of me. Pictures he saved. Pictures you took, and hid from the police. Pictures that would have helped me, saved me from this!”

“Please, stop—” Jared tried to beg, but you didn’t listen, fighting through the tears to get it all out.

“And that night... That night he tried to kill me. Did you know that? He was enjoying it, too. Just like he enjoyed everything else he ever did to me. That’s why he took those pictures, that’s why he filmed it. And he wanted me to suffer, he wanted me to hurt. So, to me... you are just like him!”

Jared met your anger, met your rage-filled eyes blurred with tears as you stared him down. The anger was burning through your entire being, scorching everything it touched. Your public shame could have been avoided if it weren’t for him. Even as another tear fell, you still spat your words at him, voice rising higher and higher. 

“I have suffered _immensely_ because of you! Because of your fucking choices! Because you chose to reach in, and rip out the truth when it was already too late!” 

You sobbed, let the tears fall as you screamed. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t face you anymore, it didn’t matter if the world could hear. It was begging to come out, so you let it. 

“Why didn’t you do it sooner? Why didn’t you do it when you could have saved me, Jared?” 

You cried into your hands, feeling the weight of the truth hit like it never had before. You had never said it, never heard it, never begged for answers why no one helped you. Why had no one helped you? 

Steve and Bucky felt so powerless where they stood, watching you crumble and break into a million pieces. There were so many things left unsaid. Things they had done that had brought you this close to the breaking point, that this was bound to tip you over. You had been through more than anyone ever deserved. And they had only added to that pain. 

Jared wanted so bad to reach for you, to comfort you. But even the slightest movement had you shifting further away from him. 

“Jess, plea—” his voice broke, his words choked and shattered. “I am s-so, so sorry, please... I can’t e-even begin to tell you how sorry I am for everything that Nate has done to you, or what I have done to you. I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through, I—” 

“What I’ve been through is being punched and kicked and raped, by your son! Right under your nose, and you did nothing!” 

You were screaming at him, crying and choking on tears, but still you persevered. Steve and Bucky couldn’t believe anything they were hearing. It was too horrible. Everything you had been through, everything you had survived came to light. But they had not even a shadow of a doubt that there were worse things you were keeping to yourself. Things you wouldn’t tell anybody. The mental torment must have been excruciating. And it wasn’t over. 

Jared lowered his head, defeated.

“I never meant to hurt you like this, please, I—But I _promise_ you that I will be there now. I am here _now_.” 

You saw the pleading stare in his eyes as he met yours, the pain residing there. It was the same look you had given Nate so many times, begging him not to hurt you, not to do that to you. It was a look you had seen in the mirror so many times before. A look of complete and utter desperation for an end. And an end you would finally get. 

You let out a shuddering breath, the last tears leaving you. 

“It’s too late...” 

How such a small whisper could weigh so heavily on a heart was beyond you. But it did. It was the truth, and the truth was always inconvenient, no matter the wrapping. It was too late. Too late to help you. Too late to save you. It was too late. 

“No, no, Jess, please,” he begged, drying tear after tear to not drown in his own sorrow. “Please, it’s not too late, no! They-they have the evidence now, they will get you out. Jess, please! I want you to come home...”

Whatever he was talking about, whatever house he envisioned you to go back to, it was no home. It was never a home to you. Nothing but a sarcophagus of torment. Nothing but a house filled with haunting memories. 

It didn’t matter how much he begged or pleaded or tried to reason with you... There was nothing he could do that would ever undo what he did. He could never undo the pain he had caused you. Pain caused by his decisions, by his choices. Too much had happened. Time had eaten away at you until there was nothing left. People had taken their bites out of you, left you as nothing more than a shell. You had nothing. You were nothing. All for a memory. 

You had been threatened, all for a memory. You had been called a liar, all for a memory. You had been beaten, all for a memory. You had been raped, all for a memory. You had been broken... shattered... all for a memory. All for the memory of Nate to stay unchanged. 

“It’s too late...”

Steve and Bucky both were ready to step in and end this horror show of a visit, but before either one could step in, you stepped away. You got up from your chair slowly, like your body was in some sort of trance, or your mind was a haze, and turned away from the man in front of you, ignoring his cries for you. 

“No, Jess, please! Please, I’m so sorry! Jess...” 

But you turned your back, tears no longer falling, but the pain was as clear as the blue sky on a summer’s day. You looked so empty. So hollow. 

You couldn’t even hear Jared screaming your name behind you. It was all a fussy noise in your ears. Like static. Like the buzz of a fly. It felt like the world was in slow-motion. Like everything was stuck in mud, or quicksand, sinking until it all disappeared. 

With slow, foreign steps you walked away. It was like your body wasn’t yours. Like you were somewhere far behind, and someone else was driving you. Like you had taken a backseat to your own self. 

You found yourself standing before officer Rogers, his eyes filled with worry as he looked down at you. His brows were furrowed, looking from your face over at Jared where he sat crying, silently begging you to come back. But you still couldn’t hear him. You could barely hear you own voice when you asked;

“May I leave...sir...?” 

Steve opened his mouth, but instead of speaking he drew a slow but deep breath. Even after this... even after learning about what your stepfather had done, the pain he had caused you, and after you had screamed your pain and truth at him, you were still so subservient to him. Still so submissive, so afraid. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look him in the eye. 

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, of course.” 

Steve even moved back a step, trying to give you some space, even though he wasn’t blocking the way out. It took a second or two before you slowly nodded, staring off into space. 

“Thank you, sir...” 

You started walking through the lock and into the hallway, and you could have sworn the static behind you escalated. 

Jared had rose to his feet, wanting to follow you, wanting to take you with him and keep you safe. Make you forgive him. 

“Jess, please!” he yelled, trying to walk through the door, but Steve wouldn’t let him. 

“Mr. Millers, please,” he said, grabbing his shoulders. 

Jared tried to push, not really seeing Steve or felt his hands on him, intent on getting you back. Steve had to hold him back, stepping in between and blocking any vision of the lock or the hallway behind him. 

“Mr. Millers!” he yelled, and Jared finally looked at him. 

His eyes were swimming with tears, his jaw quivering as he tried to keep from crying anymore. 

Bucky walked up to the two men, a firm hand finding Jared’s arm. 

“The visit is over, sir,” he said resolutely, his voice still gentle. 

He understood that Jared was upset, that he wanted to make things right and undo the mess he had made, but their priority was your safety, not his wellbeing. 

“No,” Jared mumbled. “No, no, no, no, no, I h-have to see her, I-I... I have to—” 

“Mr. Millers,” Bucky interrupted, and it seemed to bring Jared out of his haze. 

He turned his head, slightly looking up at the dark-haired officer still holding onto his arm, despite his colleague still blocking the door. Bucky’s eyes read of insistence and determination, giving no indication of yielding. 

Jared huffed, letting out an almost chocked breath, like he all of a sudden caught on to what was happening, what he was doing. He looked over at the other officer, but he looked at steely as his friend. Jared nodded. 

“Okay...” he said. “Okay, okay.” 

He took a step back, Steve’s hands falling off his shoulders as he did, but Bucky kept his grip on his arm. He let himself be moved by the guard, and soon he found himself being led toward the other door. 

Bucky looked back at Steve, giving him the go-ahead to go after you, while he dealt with Jared. He didn’t trust him enough to leave him be just yet. It was better if he made sure that Wilson had him in sight before he left to follow Steve. 

Steve was out the door once given the clear from Bucky that he had the situation under control. He jogged through the hallway, looking for you around every corner and in every possible room. How far  
had you managed to get?

Lost in thought and feeling, you let your feet wander where they wanted. As long as they led you away, you wouldn’t stop them. You didn’t know what you were feeling, if you were feeling anything at all. You felt empty, and completely consumed by something at the same time. But what it was, you had no idea. 

The hallways were all filled with inmates, but you didn’t see any of them. They were mere apparitions, shadows or ghosts in your path. Until someone walked straight into you, startling you out of whatever haze this was, and sent a pang of pain through your abdomen at the impact. 

“Ugh!” you gasped, grabbing your belly to keep it protected. 

Before you was the person you wanted least to see at this moment. 

“Gonna go bounce on daddy’s lap?” Doggett said, her voice chirpy and mocking. 

She was swinging her arms around, moving nonstop. Like she would be harder to get a read on if she didn’t stay still. She wasn’t wrong though. 

“W-what?” you asked, dumbfounded. 

This lunatic really knew how to pick her moments, always getting you when you were at your weakest. Not that you really had anything besides weak moments, but somehow, she managed to pinpoint the absolute worst. 

“Oh, you know,” she said with a snaggly smirk. “Gonna go suck a dick for some more crank? Which you’re apparently keepin’ all to yourself, cause I ain’t seen none, even though I told you to bring it.” 

Had she been swinging from powerlines? Did she hear nothing about what went on in the prison? Did she live in an imaginary world where she was the centre of everyone’s attention, and anything not involving her were last year’s news? 

“I—” you started, not really knowing what to say. “No, I, I’m—” 

“What’s the matter?” she mocked. “Cat’s got your tongue? Too bad for the officers, ‘cause I bet they just looove that tongue, right?” 

You couldn’t take it, couldn’t take any more insinuations about you or the officers, or any sexual favours being done. It was more than enough to have everything with Nate be replayed in your mind just from the mention of him, you really didn’t need any more fictive or made up scenarios. 

You stared at her, not knowing what to say, or how to defend yourself. She just stood there, smirking and laughing at you, taunting you for what you had been through. Any time you tried to take a step back, and get some distance, she countered and followed you. 

But before she could have you pinned to the wall, even with such a small frame, officer Rogers spotted you further down the hall. He wasn’t close enough to intervene yet, and the dreaded feeling of being too late ate at his mind. 

“What do they like most, hmm?” Pennsatucky went on, faking it like she was actually considering the choices she was about to give you. “Your mouth? Or your pussy? ‘Cause I bet both are just as nasty as the rest of ya.” 

You jerked back as she spat the words at you, her face turning more menacing by each word. You didn’t see him coming, but you were something close to relieved to hear his voice.

“Lay off, Pennsatucky!” Steve barked at her, and she immediately stepped back, hands raised. 

“Yes, sir,” she said with a bright voice, still looking at you instead of him. 

You froze, almost leaning against the wall at this point, as Steve came even closer to physically block Doggett from getting any closer to you. But she still just smiled at you. 

“Guess you oughta thank him for that, hmm?” she said with suggestive brows. “A frickin’ knight in shinin’ armour, am I right?”

The familiar prickling of fresh tears stung your eyes. You hated how easily you crumpled. It took so little to render you a bawling mess, and she was surely working hard for it. 

“Shut your mouth, Doggett,” Steve snapped at her. 

She just raised her hands even higher, looking away from you and down at the floor. But she still maintained her sarcastic manner. 

“Yes, sir, officer Rogers,” she said, and turned to walk away. 

Bucky came hurrying down the hall just as Pennsatucky turned on her heel. He saw the block of Steve’s body between you and her, and how you were mentally pinned to the wall. He rushed his last few steps to get to you. 

“You okay?” he asked once he reached you, and Steve turned around to check for himself. 

The inmates around didn’t dare to linger, not with two officers who both seemed to be on edge. And given the tongue-lashing Doggett had gotten, they were safest at a distance. 

You looked down at the floor, nodding just to give some kind of response to their question. They didn’t really believe you to be alright, despite your insistent nodding. 

Steve let out a breath through his nose, letting the irritation leave his body. As if you hadn’t been through enough already, now you’d had to take the insults given by Doggett. And going off what she had said while he was there, the nature of it all had been the worst kind for you. 

Bucky hated that he hadn’t seen or heard what had happened, but he had a hunch of the subject. These inmates really loved a good story about an inmate hooking up with guards, and since he and Steve both had done a bang-up job of adding fuel to that fire, it was bound to still be lit. 

Both men looked from you to each other, and back again. You didn’t move, didn’t look anywhere but the floor. It looked like you were somewhere else in your head, and maybe you were. You had good reason to flee reality. Especially today. 

Bucky let out a light sigh. 

“Come on, let’s get you back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, golly! That was intense!
> 
> This chapter just grew and grew and grew... I hope you liked it anyway!
> 
> If there are any mistakes, grammar errors or spelling blunders, please let me know, and I'll fix em! :)
> 
> Please pop down in the comment section and leave me a note, I answer everybody! <3


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some talking is needed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slowly coming out and peeking out from my hiding spot* 
> 
> Hello, my lovies!
> 
> I am sooooo sorry for the wait! I have been drowned in work and my own mental problems that I just haven't been able to get anything down at all... I see a change coming up at the horizon, and I am hopeful that things will move a bit more fluently from now on. I hope you can bear with me as I go through this valley of fogginess with a non-functioning brain <3 
> 
> I hope you can forgive me for the long wait <3 
> 
> I appreciate your patience, and I hope you like this new chapter :)

If one was to go by what the news were saying, you were either; a mastermind with the cleverness of Sherlock Holmes himself for managing this big ruse of going to the big house as a felon and possible being released as a victim who got preyed on, with the question; was it all planned this way? Or option two; a poor little lost girl who just got caught up in it all, didn’t have anything to lose so she said ‘fuck it’ and killed her stepbrother and was now regretting it all and begging for mercy. Slightly closer, but... not quite right. 

If you weren’t the talk of the town already – or at least talk of the prison – you surely were now. Since the little spectacle of your public stabbing, then following a mystery visit from a man you seemed quite friendly with, and, once again, the chivalrous officers Barnes and Roger keeping you safe from anyone trying to disturb you, the words ‘release’ and ‘innocent’ were spreading like wildfire. Of course, many didn’t believe the latter though, usually leaving that part out in the gossip.

Some had heard it from their friends or loved ones over the phone and spread it around their little squad like its own form of twitter with a highspeed broadband. Some had seen it on their own phones, cleverly hidden and rarely used contraband with a bad internet connection. Some information was lost as it was sent on, people only seeing what they wanted to and all that. But there were certain words reappearing in all articles and stories; abused, beaten, assaulted, for _years_.

Seeing this was prison after all, a place where most people only looked out for their own and rarely believed the stories they read or heard anymore, most people just called it all lies, or a deal gone wrong with a bad outcome. That you were still very much guilty, and deserved the punishment and sentence dealt. But some people were appalled by the information spreading, aching for you and the pain you had suffered for so long, thinking how unfair it all was. Not only your past, but your present situation at Litchfield, and what it must have done to your head. People like Nicky Nichols. 

Nicky had heard it from Lorna, who in turn had heard it from her gossiping sister who just couldn’t shut up about the horrible story in the news. She had gone on and on about what she thought on the matter, what _must_ have happened according to the news, and how horrible it must have been to live through. So, naturally, Lorna Morello, much like her sister, told her prison family about the whole ordeal, and shared her own thoughts and feelings on the matter, stating every so often how she ‘didn’t really know you that well’, which was ‘too bad’.

Red had just mumbled something along the lines of ‘what’s to be expected of men, they’re all animals’ and so forth. But she did think it was sad should it all be true, and had pity on you, something rarely seen from the Russian if it wasn’t direct family. But maybe it was because Nicky had come somewhat close to you, and Red considered Nicky her daughter. 

Yoga Jones felt really saddened to hear it, saying how she should have known, seeing how easily spooked you were even from the get-go, and how you had acted when being shown even the slightest kindness. She wished she could go back and invite you in more than what she had done. But Sister Ingalls was quick to shut that down, telling her that if it wasn’t for her, none of them would even know you. She said a prayer for you that night, thinking that keeping you in her thoughts and prayers wouldn’t hurt at least. You deserved every kindness coming your way, silent or not. 

Nicky hadn’t said much at all, mostly just mumbling along and agreeing with everyone. She felt guilty. She shouldn’t have been such a coward when officer Barnes came to talk to her that day in the chapel. She should have stood her ground, defended you and kept you safe, threats be damned. But she knew her weakness, and so did Barnes. And the promise to be reunited with her long-lost lover Lady H should she even think of going against him or Rogers, was just something she couldn’t risk, or fight against. He had found her weakness, and gone right for the kill. 

Nicky was currently loitering in a hallway. She was alone, her pack out and about on whatever business they had. But not her. She had made up some lame excuse of maintenance work to Luscheck to get out of working in the shop, hoping to catch some other officer, someone who actually did the work that was asked of them. Work like, say... going down to medical to check on the inmate admitted there? 

A few inmates looked at her funny when they passed her, but she just gave them a flirtatious wink or remark, and sent them on their way. Soon, her hard work payed off, and officer Fisher came walking along the corridor. And conveniently enough, from the direction of the medical wing. And loads of other things too, of course, but Nicky didn’t let that deter her from keeping her hopes up higher than high. 

“Hey, officer,” she said with a big smile, earning one back from the kind guard. 

“Hey, Nichols,” Susan said, and came to a stop before the fidgety, curly-haired inmate. 

Nicky had no idea what to do with her hands, feeling nervous, like she was committing a crime just asking about you. Her hands were fumbling around both with her clothes and hair, clapping together even from time to time. 

“So, uh... How’s your day going?” she asked. 

CO Fisher moved her head to the side, her smile still apparent. She wasn’t annoyed at all, instead liking the chats with friendly inmates. She knew she could be a little naïve, but Nichols was harmless. Albeit, a little flirtatious from time to time. 

“It’s going good,” she said. “Thanks for asking. What about you?”

“Oh, you know,” Nicky said with a nervous tone. “Just... enjoying prison, and all it has to offer.” 

She gave another nervous laugh, hoping she wasn’t wearing the officer’s patience too thin. She looked around her, just letting her eyes jump around, making enough time go by so it was appropriate to ask about you. And... time’s up. 

“Hey, how’s-how’s Harper?” she asked, contorting her face into a more curious look rather than worried. “How’s she doin’ after... well, everything.” 

Susan could tell that Nicky had real and deep concern for you, and wasn’t just fishing for the latest updates on the gossip. She was genuinely worried, which was kind. Susan gave her a warm smile. 

“She’s doing okay. She’s healing, and I hope her mind is too. Can’t be easy what she’s going through, but hopefully it will all be resolved soon.” 

Nicky nodded. She was relieved to hear that you were healing, but she too was worried about the parts that weren’t physical. How were you _really_ doing?

“Oh, good, good,” Nicky said, nodding away as she tried to make up something to end the conversation, but failing. 

Fisher noticed, figuring that Nicky had most likely just wanted the update and nothing more, but was too polite to just walk away. Behind her flirtatious and upbeat persona, there beat a kind and worried heart for others, a quality worth to nurture. 

“It’s very sweet of you to ask, Nichols,” the officer said. “She needs all the kindness she can get.” 

With that, she left, leaving Nicky feeling somewhat better, but still carrying a lot of concern. She had kind of figured that you were healing, physically at least, but it was nice to get it confirmed. After all, she hadn’t seen you for a while, with you being couped up down at medical for your own safety. And the rumours weren’t anything to pay any mind, all just different versions of the same lewd and dirty things regarding you and one or more officers and various sexual positions around camp. And to Nicky’s despair, none of it involving a female officer, so what was the use anyway? 

Nicky really hoped that things would calm down, and that the false rumours would start to fade and hopefully die out pretty soon. She still wasn’t sure what the reason was for Aleida Diaz jumping you like she had. 

She had heard a few inmates saying that the guards had raided Spanish Harlem in a not so quiet manner, and that her daughter Daya had gotten the worst of it. Some said that Daya had been seen getting a scolding or threatened by a few officers, and that that was the reason for Aleida’s freak-out. Basically, regular guard stuff, where the blame just got put on you.

Apparently, anything to do with the guards, even if it weren’t Barnes or Rogers (the rumours were indecisive on that part) always came back to you, and was all done under your request for whatever reason. How anyone could think something like that of you was beyond Nicky. You were so not the manipulative type. Plus, you hadn’t really been at Litchfield that long, so how could you have even managed to get the guards whipped already? It had taken Red years to get Healy under her thumb, and then work her way all the way to Caputo. The fact that people thought you, _you_ , could do the same in just a month or so, was the real bullshit. Red was a mastermind, you were a scared little rabbit in comparison. 

Nicky had failed to spot the other officer standing around a corner. Officer Barnes had heard the whole conversation with Fisher, and he was glad to see the care, to see that someone thought about you and worried about you, but he hated to whole dancing around the subject part. Everyone seemed tense when it came to the subject of you, usually speaking in hushed voices with an ulterior tone. But not Nicky. 

Bucky knew that if he hadn’t said what he said to Nichols, if he hadn’t done what he had done to make sure she kept her distance, you wouldn’t even be in this situation in the first place. If he and Steve had left you alone, given you the benefit of the doubt and simply guarded you like the rest of the inmates, you time in prison would look very differently. 

Nicky was heading his way, still oblivious of his eyes on her. Bucky stepped around the corner, almost spooking Nicky who had been lost in her thoughts about you. She took a cautious step back, keeping the distance. 

“Officer,” she said with a polite and tense nod, and made to pass him, but he sidestepped to block her. 

“I, uh... Sorry,” he said, and held his hands up, apologizing for spooking her not once, but twice. “I heard you ask Fisher about Harper.” 

Nicky eyed him carefully. He didn’t look mad, or even upset. His brows seemed to carry his own lines of worry, which she hadn’t expected to see. 

“Oh, yeah?” she said, clearing her throat as she started fidgeting again. “What’s it to ya?” 

Bucky let out a soft snort through his nose. What had he expected really? 

“No, no, nothing, it’s... It’s just great to see that someone cares, is all.”

A moment ticked by, the tension building. Both were kind of sizing each other up. The tension of officer-in-the-wrong and inmate-in-the-right was palpable at this point, but he was still the one in charge, so she needed to tread somewhat carefully and not let her head run too hot.

“Okay, what’s the deal?” Nicky asked, careful not to seem too cocky while she stood her ground. “What, is-is it only okay to talk to _you_ about Jess? What, you-you got some kind of claim on her?”

“What?” Bucky said, somewhat dumbfounded since that was not at all his intentions. “No, that’s not what I meant—”

“What’s the deal with you guys and her, anyway?” Nicky pushed. “Both you and Rogers seem to be hovering around her like a herd around a wounded wildebeest, trying to get the hyenas to back off.” 

Bucky wasn’t really surprised, though he thought both he and Steve had been slightly more inconspicuous. Maybe they had overdone it a bit with your protection, but they didn’t want to see you get hurt again, not on their watch. There was a reason for your presence in the medical wing after all. The proof is in the pudding, as they say. 

Bucky drew a deep breath, only to let it out slowly. 

“It’s... complicated,” he said, not really knowing what else to say. 

“Because of you being buddy-buddies with Millers?” 

Bucky looked down at her, a questioning furrow to his brows. 

“How’d you know about that?”

Nicky scoffed. “Well, i-it’s interesting. See, I have eyes.” She even made a point by bringing her hand up to show him their existence. “So, what? You’re guilty by association or somethin’?” 

Well, it wasn’t far off, he’d give her that. But sadly, the truth was a lot worse. 

“Something like that,” Bucky said instead. 

Nicky just nodded. She hated that she almost felt a little bad for the officer. If he and Rogers were going out of their way to protect you now, they couldn’t possibly have known what Nate had done to you. If they had, they wouldn’t have acted the way they did in the beginning. But still, that didn’t change the fact that Barnes had been a world class asshole to her, so she was still a little wary. 

“You’ve been to seen her?” she asked softly as more inmates were starting to crowd the hallway. 

Bucky nodded as he crossed his arms, missing the way she followed his movements and leaned further away. She was starting to trust the guy, but she wasn’t stupid. 

“Yeah, she’s... she’s going through a tough time, but hopefully she’ll make it through this too. She’s been through worse.”

He knew that Nichols must think that he was speaking about your past with Nate, and not about the added past with him and Steve. He figured that if she knew about that, there’d be hell to pay from the entire Ruskie family. 

Nicky pondered it for a moment, nodding as she did. It was more honest that what Fisher had said, and not as uplifting, but she’d take honesty in this situation. 

“Is she gonna come up any time soon?” she asked carefully, her hopes slightly falling. 

“I don’t know, it depends,” Bucky said, feeling like he should speak the truth on the matter. “There are a lotta factors to consider, her safety being the main one. But I guess medical is better than the SHU at least.” 

Oh, yeah, Nicky could sign off on that. She’d spent her fair amount of time in the SHU for several reasons, and it was not exactly a trip to the Bahamas. At least in medical you had a soft bed, a warm cover and people around to talk to so you didn’t go crazy. But it was still a form of solitary. 

“Supposedly,” Nicky said, not truly trusting the friendliness of the officer. 

Bucky didn’t blame Nichols for not taking his word, or trusting him. He had been an asshole on more than one occasion. Maybe it took a little bit more convincing that simply stating that she wouldn’t be in trouble for talking to you. 

“Hey, listen, I...” he started, rubbing the back of his neck to sooth his nerves. “I’m sorry about everything before, about what I said. I was wrong, and I shouldn’t have... threatened you like that. I hope you can still patch things up with Harper. I think she might need a friend.” 

Nicky just looked at him like he’d turn himself into a giant chicken and was pecking at the top of her head. 

“Really?” she said gruffly, scoffing just to add to it. “That’s it? You’re sorry?”

That did not make up for the very clear threat of ruining her life in more than one way, and definetly not with such a shit apology. 

“Yeah,” he said, voice tighter than before. “I’m sorry.”

Nicky scoffed at him, astonished by the words and him just kind of throwing the word around like it explained everything. And apparently, that was not the right response. 

Bucky had kind of figured that would be the response, but he still didn’t like it, or take her tone lightly. He had apologized more than what he was comfortable with, and he had done it to an _inmate_. He was an officer and held all the power here, yet he had come down from his high horse, and said that he was sorry. ‘Bucky Barnes, The Apology Tour.’ And it was ending right now. 

“Hey, it’s more than I have to say, alright,” he spat, feeling his patience run out. “I didn’t have to say shit, okay? Even if you brought it to Caputo, who’s he gonna believe, huh? Think anyone is gonna believe a junkie over an ex-army man with a clean record? Well, I got news for you... they ain’t. So either take the apology, or keep it moving, inmate.” 

It was a bit harsher than necessary, but Bucky had been carrying pent-up feelings of all kinds lately, the steam was bound to get the kettle whistling at some point. Nicky just happened to be in the line of fire when he went off. Besides, it got the job done. Nicky bowed her head down with her hands held high, and backed away. 

“I hear ya loud an’ clear, officer. I’ll take it.” 

Nicky knew better than to poke a sleeping bear. Especially when said bear was starting to stir all on his own. It was better to take the apology and leave it at that. After all, it was way more than she had expected from the officer in the first place. But at least he was copping to what he had said and done, and that was a good day in anyone’s book. 

O.o.O.o.O

Steve was more than a bit unhappy with Doggett and her behaviour. It might be a bit hypocritical to comment on someone else’s bad behaviour when he himself was no saint, but this wrong might make a right. He had failed too many times already, and he would be damned if he just stood by and watched it happen one more time. 

However, he wasn’t about to go barking orders in front of everybody, he and Bucky had both done that more than enough times to raise suspicions. If he was going to have a heart-to-heart with Doggett, he needed to do so quietly. Besides, the things he was planning on saying weren’t all that heart-warming, or very ‘impartial officer’ like. 

Steve went to make sure that Doggett had gone back to her dorm like he thought she had, and he was not disappointed. She was stood leaning against the low divider, snickering and probably talking shit with her fellow meth-heads. He felt the familiar strain of anger start to build in his muscles, tension running higher when seeing her so unimpacted by it all. 

He passed the dorm, and went to look for a fellow officer to help him out with getting her away from everyone. It was more inconspicuous that way. If no one knew it was officer Rogers doing all the barking, at least not out in the open, then hopefully he wasn’t adding too much fuel to the fires burning. At least he hoped so. 

He found officer Wilson patrolling a hallway not too far from the dorm. Sam probably wasn’t all that bothered to hear what Steve had to say, but if he chose his words carefully, it might sound less like he was ordering an inferior officer around to do his dirty work. 

“Wilson,” Steve said when within range. 

Sam perked his head up at Steve’s approach, finding his fellow officer looking a bit tense as he walked up, crossing his arms once he came to a stop at his side. Sam couldn’t help but tense up a bit himself, mentally preparing himself for another uncalled-for tongue lashing. 

“Whassup?” 

Steve visibly clenched his jaw as he drew a deep breath. 

“I need you to do something for me,” he said, waiting for the other man’s reaction. 

“Okay,” Sam said carefully, waiting to hear the rest. 

“I need to talk to Tiffany Doggett, and I need you to get her for me.”

Sam eyed Steve cautiously, trying to read his expression.

“What’s the occasion? Can’t you just do it yourself?” 

“I could, but it would look pretty bad if I did, right after what happened in the hallway,” Steve explained. “These women don’t need any more reasons to peg either me or Barnes with Harper, and I’d rather not give them any wrong ideas of my intentions. I simply need to talk to her, but, as you know, nothing is simple in prison.” 

Sam knew good and well that there was no such thing as ‘simple’ when it came to handling inmates. He had worked in the men’s facility a few years back, and frankly, that was easier. Sure, there was more physical violence, but these women weren’t exactly a walk in the park either. The amount of shit being stirred with so little was almost impressive. 

“Yeah, I hear ya,” Sam said after a while. “What’s up with that anyway?”

“With what?”

“You and Barnes having something goin’ on with Harper. The rumours aren’t exactly non-explicit, if you know what I mean.” 

Steve ducked his head, a mixture of shame and annoyance building. He was more than certain that no one knew about what had happened in the laundry room between you and them, but anything simply implying something of the sorts got his shame to resurface. And the fact that the inmates were talking shit about you, making up stories to ruin not just your reputation but your credibility, as well as theirs, brought his blood to a simmer. Even more so when being asked point blank about it by another officer. 

Sam saw the shifts of Steve’s face, going from simply looking on edge to actually looking annoyed. But then a tiredness framed his eyes, probably from having to hear of it for the millionth time. 

“No,” Steve said, voice a tad too sharp. “We’re just trying to look out for her is all. Trying to make up for before, and, well...” he said with a quick raise of his brows. “These ladies are never late to start drama, you know. They see something, and they blow it out of proportion.” 

Sam nodded, agreeing with what Steve had to say. It was the most annoying part of working in a women’s prison according to him. 

“Yeah, I hear ya,” he said, but not letting it go just yet. “Quite a change of behaviour you two have made, seeing how hot you both were for revenge at the beginning. Didn’t really care what anyone was doin’ or sayin’ to her then.” 

Sam hadn’t forgotten the unfairness that day in the locker room. He didn’t like bullies, never had, and both Rogers and Barnes had both come off as bullies. But now they were both goody two shoes when it came to you. 

Steve had to bite the inside of his cheeks with that one. It hurt to be reminded of his shortcomings, especially since he knew what it all had led up to. 

“I know,” he admitted. “We were... hurt to hear about what happened with Millers. We made a mistake. But now we’re trying to make up for it. That’s why I need to talk to Pennsatucky.” 

Steve didn’t ask again, he just waited to see what Wilson would say, hoping that he would see the genuine care he held behind his words, and help him in his endeavour to keep you safe. And hopefully not push for anything else.

Sam didn’t really know what he was hoping to hear, but it was something along those lines at least. Now not only Barnes had explained himself, but Rogers too. Two men who were used to being right, being a good example, had both admitted to their shortcomings. So, the least he could do was offer his help. 

“We all make mistakes,” he said, watching a smile start to creep across Steve’s face. “It’s all cool. But you might wanna talk to Doggett in private.” 

“Any suggestions?” 

“It might not be glamorous, but at least it’s private. A closet.”

Steve let out a soft snort, scratching his forehead a bit nervously. 

“You don’t think that’s just gonna add to the whole inappropriate relationship between myself and an inmate? I mean, a closet? That’s the peak hook-up spot, after the chapel.” 

Both men let out a soft chuckle at the mention. The amount of times they had seen two inmates sneak off to the chapel was endless, but they were rarely caught in the act. 

“Hence the ensured privacy,” Sam countered. “Everyone knows what the closets are for, so they don’t interrupt whoever’s in there. When the closet is rockin’, don’t come knockin’,” he said with a laugh. 

Steve couldn’t really argue with that, especially not when he too was busy laughing. Sam did have a good point; inmates rarely interrupted when they suspected there were people in a closet, and usually steered clear of said rooms when not looking to occupy one themselves. 

“Sure it’s not gonna look bad?” he asked again, just to be sure. 

Sam shrugged at him. Even though he had stopped laughing, his smile never faded. 

“I doubt Tiffany Doggett, the shit-stirrer of shit-stirrers, is gonna go squawking around the prison about meeting officer Rogers in a closet, let alone make some shit up that something happened besides talkin’.”

Steve nodded his head to the side with another signature swift raise of his brows as he listened, not finding any fault in Wilson’s plan. If anything, Pennsatucky would deny the meeting ever took place. 

“Besides,” Sam said before Steve could open his mouth. “I’ll be discreet, make sure no one sees. Use the closet in corridor A, it’s the least crowded corridor.” 

Steve felt like a bobblehead at this point, nodding yet again. 

“Thank you, Sam,” he said. “I really appreciate it.” 

“It’s not for you,” Sam said, but his smile was still friendly. “I just don’t want Harper to have to deal with any more shit than she has already. And if you talking to Doggett is the way to make sure of that, then I’m glad to help.” 

Steve bowed his head down gratefully, letting Sam walk past him, before he in turn started heading towards corridor A. He didn’t exactly have a speech ready, but he knew what message he wanted to get through. 

Tiffany Doggett was still leaning lazily against the dividing wall in her dorm, gossiping with the ones she called friends, Grease Hair one and two among others, though most of them were just lackeys who were too afraid of her to leave her and go rouge. The inmates were used to officers checking in every day, and didn’t really pay CO Wilson any mind when he walked through the door, not until he spoke up. 

“Doggett,” he said, tone tight, stopping just inside the dorm. 

Pennsatucky turned her head, raising an expecting eyebrow at him. Her posse looked a bit more concerned than she did, but she wasn’t really known to be the sharpest tool in the shed. 

“Yeah?” she asked. 

“I need you to come with me,” Sam said, taking a step to the side to show her the door. 

Doggett looked bewildered at the request, facing her friends for a quick second before looking back at the officer. 

“Why? What I do?” 

She started walking towards the man, knowing resisting only rendered her with either shots, or worse, the SHU. No matter if she wanted to or not, she was going to come with him. 

“Move it, Doggett,” Sam said instead of answering her question. 

She didn’t need to get a heads-up on what was happening, nor was he inclined to tell her. She needed to do what she was told, nothing more, nothing less. She seemed somewhat reluctant at first, but soon got a nice pep in her step as they walked along the hallway, clueless as she was. Sam was holding onto her arm, making sure she kept with his pace and not her own. 

He had made a good call when he suggested corridor A. It was almost empty, and the few inmates there were up ahead and soon gone around a corner. Doggett seemed none the wiser when they stopped in front of the closet. The lights were off, as the usually were when people met there, but Sam knew that Steve was inside. 

“What’s goin’ on?” Doggett asked, not sounding all that worried, despite the weird assumed pitstop. 

“Someone needs to talk to you,” Sam informed her, eyes bearing down at her petite frame. 

She raised her brows, not understanding what he meant. She looked at the door, the frosted window not giving any clue as to who was in there, if anyone. 

“Wh—In there?” she asked with a thumb pointing at the door. 

Sam didn’t say anything, instead gave two soft knocks at the door before opening it. Tiffany just stood there like a game piece lost in the wrong game, peeking in but not really seeing anything, or anyone. Sam threw a quick glance around the hallway, before he started pushing her in. 

The officer pushing at her back eased up once she stepped over the threshold, and that’s when she saw him. Steve was standing almost right behind the door, arms crossed patiently over his chest, chin tucked down as if resting his head. She looked back once, a bit apprehensive about the whole thing, but officer Rogers placed a firm hand on the door, and shut it before she could utter another word to Wilson. 

Tiffany nervously cleared her throat, looking up at the tall officer before her, now blocking the door with his boot, as well as the rest of him. The dark room created menacing shadows across his face, sharpening already sharp lines, darkening his normally soft blue eyes. 

“What you wanna see me about?” she asked and cleared her throat again, her voice not carrying its usual spit. 

Steve just took a moment to stare her down, sizing her up. Her shoulders were up, hands hidden inside the sleeves of her hoodie and her head was kept low, despite having to strain to look up at him. She was worried. And she should be. 

“I wanted to talk to you about Jess Harper.” 

Pennsatucky shrugged her shoulders, a hand coming up to wipe at her nose fretfully. 

“What about her?” 

“You tell me,” he stated, and waited for her to stew in his words. 

She looked uncomfortable where she stood, leaning her weight from one foot to the other, looking everywhere else to not meet his burning gaze. Steve was calm, too calm for her taste. At least on the surface. She knew there must be something else hiding underneath, otherwise they wouldn’t be here, in a dark closet, having a talk. 

Doggett fidgeted with her sleeves under the intense stare of the officer, weighing the chances of just opening the door and walking away without any consequences, but they fell short. 

“Alright,” she said after a while, not standing the awkward silence. “I don’t know what you think happened, but we were just jokin’, you know. Playin’ around.”

Steve didn’t move a muscle. 

“Kinda tasteless jokes, don’t you think?”

Doggett scoffed nervously. 

“Well, what can I say, it’s prison, you know? Rumours spread fast around here. Besides, I-I didn’t even start it.”

“Oh, no?” Steve asked, not believing her for a second. 

“No, sir! Uh-uh, not me,” Pennsatucky said with a headshake. 

“Then who did?”

“I don’t know. I just heard it. People sayin’ how she gets all cozied on up with the COs, twistin’ all y’all around her finger to get what she wants. It ain’t right. It ain’t right, an’ you know it.”

Steve leaned down a little closer, watching Doggett cower back, eyes jumping around as he spoke slowly.

“Do you really think we’re that stupid? That an inmate can simply sway her ass our way and we’ll come running to get her whatever she wants? Are you so fuckin’ brainless that you believe any of that is true?” 

Tiffany didn’t answer, instead looking down at the officer’s boots and flicking her fingers inside the sleeves of her shirt to ease her nerves. It wasn’t like officer Rogers to be so crude, and if he was, it wasn’t a spot one wanted to find themselves in. 

“You’re gonna cut this shit out,” Steve continued, keeping his voice an octave lower than normal to add to the tension. “You’re gonna be a model fuckin’ inmate from now on. And if anyone has anything negative, or vulgar to say about Harper, you make sure it gets shut down.” 

Tiffany Doggett, despite being more than a little intimidated by the towering officer, decided to try her luck at pushing him to get something for her own. She was never one to shy away from an opportunity to get hers, even when cornered in a closet by someone almost three times her size. Whether drugs had a way of making one do things one does not want to, or just fry the brain until there’s nothing left but the need for a fix, one should realize when the time was right, and when it was not. But not Tiffany Doggett. 

She raised her chin a bit higher, meeting the intensity of officer Rogers eyes head on for the first time, and spoke with more dare than she should.

“Yeah? What’s it worth to ya?”

“What?” Steve asked harshly, but Tiffany didn’t budge. 

“What’s it worth to ya? For me to keep an eye out for your girl?” she asked with an expectant raise of her brows at him, almost daring him. 

Steve took a step closer, coming even closer in an already crammed closet, and placed a hand on the wall right beside Pennsatucky’s head. The proximity was close enough that she could feel his breath on her face as he spoke, tone low and threatening, and her braver started to falter. 

“You are not in any position to play coy with me, little girl. You’re not getting shit for it, besides the luxury of staying in minimum security for the rest of your sentence. ‘Cause that could easily change. One word from me, and you’ll be rotting in either SHU or Max, depending on how much I give them. And trust me, I can make a pretty hefty list. You’re not exactly god’s greatest child, now, are you?”

He raised a hand to move a strand of dirty hair from her face, watching her recoil from his touch as much as she could in the small space. He smirked down at her, the fear apparent in her glossy eyes. She had made the wrong choice to aggravate the man who was already more than a little ticked off. 

“So be a little clever for once in your life, and don’t test me. ‘Cause you’re not gonna like it if you do. There are countless ways for me to make your life even more miserable than it already is, and that’s saying something seeing how much you’ve already fucked up in your life.”

Pennsatucky couldn’t deny that. The guards had a way of creating mayhem like no other if they chose to, and no one around to shut it down. The officer held all the power, and they both knew it. 

“Now,” Steve continued, watching the cogs work inside her head. “You’re gonna stay away from Harper, and leave her be for the rest of her time here, and you’re gonna make sure that your girls do the same. If I see anyone, _anyone_ , from your group even as much as look at her funny... you’ll be the one to pay for it. And I promise that you won’t like that payment very much. Do I make myself clear?” 

Doggett nodded so fast she feared her head might fall from her neck. 

“Yes. Yes, sir,” she said and cleared her throat. “Clear as day, officer.” 

“Good,” he said, and gave her a smile which carried no light. “’Cause if I have to ask you again... I won’t ask so nicely.” 

As he said that, the hand that had only seconds ago touched her so gently, snaked around and grabbed a vicious hold of the back of her neck. She winced at the pressure, shoulders scrunching up in an attempt to replace his hand, but to no avail. 

“Agh...” 

Steve squeezed even harder, his own jaw clenching along with the pressure. Doggett raised her hands to grab at his hand and wrist, trying to pry him off, but she couldn’t. 

“Okay, alright!” she said eventually, and the pressure immediately eased. 

She reluctantly met his eyes. They were still dark and carrying a truth she couldn’t deny. He would hurt her if she didn’t listen, he had proven that. Along with the threat of added time spent in Max, she’d do best to listen. 

“Good,” he praised, backing off and giving her some space to breath without suffocating in his forceful energy. “Then I guess we’re done here.”

Steve reached for the door handle and swung it open without a care if Doggett managed to move out of the way or not. He pushed passed her, and stepped out.

“See you around, Doggett,” he said, closing the door again behind his back and left her.

Whether she would heed his command and keep her distance or not, he would have to wait and see. He hoped that his tone and body language had done enough to promise her of a not so pleasant experience should she not, but then again, Doggett wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. He would have to keep a close eye out for any disturbance, but he felt hopeful that things would simmer down. At least on her end. The rest? Time would tell how many more he needed to have a talk with, but he was more than up for the challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my best work, I know... It's just so hard to write when I don't know what's gonna happen in the chapter! I have a few upcoming scenes that I know like the back of my hand, but until then, I fear I will just have to buckle up and face the slow process of writing head on! 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and sticking with me, I hope you can forgive me for the long wait <3 Love you all!!!


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How's Jess really doing..?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERWARNING!!
> 
> Depressive, suicidal thoughts and actions, physical pain, emotional pain, medical care. 
> 
> This is a really depressing and painful chapter. DO NOT read if any of the warnings or tags upset you. Take care of yourself first! <3 
> 
> Enjoy the angst...

The low hissing of the fluorescent lights was slowly becoming deafening in the silent room. There was no sound loud enough to break it, not even the steady beat of your heart thrumming in your ears. The brightness of the ceiling lights was scorching above you, like the heat of the midday sun beating down on a lonely desert. 

You sat huddled in a corner behind the bed which had become your home these past few days, not bearing the exposure of it. You had felt like an animal in a zoo when officer Fisher had simply done her job of checking up on you once you came back down, and you’d rather not go through that again. It was better, safer, in the corner where no one could see. 

Your arms held your knees to your chest in a tight embrace, willing the panic not to surface along with the pain, as you stared straight ahead without really seeing anything. Your whole mind was in a haze.

Jared’s words resonated in your head. Everything he had said, not only during the visit, but that night. That horrible night when everything had gone wrong, when you were punished for saving your own life. Yes, you could understand his side, understand his pain. He had lost a son, he had every right to be mourning. But that said, he should have known what he did. He should have known the ripple effect of such a, in the moment, quick or simple decision to take his son’s side. To choose to keep it all a secret to protect his memory. He should have known. 

What hurt most in the mix of it all you couldn’t say. Was it the betrayal of Jared’s decision? Was is how long it had taken him to start righting his wrongs? Was it everything that had happened in the meantime, because of what he did? So much had happened since then, that wouldn’t have been a part of your life had it not been for him. 

You knew betrayal like a familiar, homeward bound road to a house. Like a bridge you always have to cross on every path. It was one of the few constants in your life, one of the few things you would never escape. It would always be there. When you thought you were safe, when you thought you knew your surroundings and trusted the people around you, it would be there to once more shatter your world apart. It would never stop. Just like the pain of being hurt would never stop. It was constant. 

It was beyond exhausting to never know. It was beyond tiring to always try to predict an end to a bubble of kindness or care, try to protect yourself from the pain of it, only to have it be popped in a completely unthinkable way you hadn’t seen coming. You never knew what to trust, what to lean on, or who. You never knew when you were safe. You could never prepare yourself for the pain, never cushion its impact. It always left you shattered. Now? Now it left you in smithereens.

If not for Jared, maybe you wouldn’t even be here in the first place, maybe you wouldn’t be in prison where the torture and suffering had carried on. Where you were once again beaten into a corner, threatened and scared with no way out. Where you had been raped.

Everything officer Barnes and Rogers had done to you flashed before your eyes. The traces of their hands were still palpable on your body, the bruises still fading. Their intrusion was still felt inside. Everything shamefully hidden. It just kept happening. 

Before, you’d had hope. As long as Nate was gone, you’d had hope of a life without pain, without constant suffering. Now that hope had been crushed by the events which followed. Maybe it was just foolish to think it would ever get better? Maybe freedom would be no different than imprisonment? Maybe you were destined to never feel the comfort of happiness, and bear the cross of lifelong agony at the hands of those above you. At the hands of men. 

Maybe this was just what your life was supposed to consist of? Maybe this was it? Nothing but cuts and bruises that would be replaced by new ones as soon as the old ones healed. Nothing but men using your body for their own pleasure, without a care in the world of your pain as they do so. Nothing but a puppet on a string. There for everyone else’s entertainment. 

Empty. 

Consumed.

Hollow.

Stripped of worth and filled with shame.

Worthless.

Shameful. 

Soon the hissing of the lights above was drowned by the sound of your tears. Your body shook and shuddered from the panicked sobs falling from your mouth, your throat burning from clenching too tight to keep the cries from becoming screams. The tears left itchy tracks on your cheeks as they cascaded down like a faucet refusing to turn off. It hurt. It always hurt. No matter what you did, you always hurt. Somewhere. If not in body, then in mind. 

It felt like the last bit of fire you’d had was gone, now leaving just a dying ember in the ash. There was no spark left to ignite the fire again. Nothing to keep you fighting. You were empty. Used up. Burned down to the ground and left in nothing but soot. 

What did you have to fight for? What was left of you to even start trying to put back together? Was there anything left in the world besides ill will, hate, despair and people looking to break you apart and take their piece? Was there any future for you that didn’t hold this agony? Was there really anything to live for? You weren’t so sure anymore.

You hadn’t been left alone for long, before the friendly nurse Banner came in to check up on you. You heard the door unlock, open and shut as he stepped in. He hadn’t spotted you yet, but he’d heard a sniffle from somewhere in the room as he stepped in.  


“Harper?” he called out, looking around the room. 

Quickly, you wiped your nose on your sleeve to rid it of the snot, a trail of blood staining the fabric from where it had touched your lip. It was still bleeding, hadn’t stopped since you’d accidently ripped it open without noticing when you yelled. You tried to gather yourself, pull everything back in again and compose yourself, but it was too hard. This wasn’t an acceptable part of yourself, that you had learned a long time ago, so you did everything you could to spare Bruce the visual. No one wanted to see this. 

“Har—Oh, there you are,” he said once he came around the end of the bed. 

He stopped where he was, looking at the state of you. A scared and shaking puppy would look cuddly and inviting compared to you where you sat, pressing yourself back into the walls surrounding you. Sobs were still making their way out to try and relieve the pressure building in your chest. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Bruce said calmy, crouching down. “Take it easy, okay? Breathe.” 

He didn’t come any closer, he kept his distance, hoping the fear in your eyes would go away if he did, but it didn’t. You eyed him carefully, your distrust for him apparent but you couldn’t force it down. Nothing about his posture read of any ill intent, but you had been wrong to trust those signs before. 

You locked eyes with him, breathing in whenever he did, and breathing out as he did too, following his instruction. Every breath was jagged and cut off more than once, but the strain of concentration of just breathing soon took over every thought, leaving only the bodily signs, which all refused to go. Tears were still falling, tension was still high and your body still shook. But the racing spiral of thoughts were overrun by the simple instruction to just breath. 

“There we go,” Bruce said when he realized it wasn’t going to get any better than that. “Let’s get you up.” 

He reached out a hand for you to take in your own time, helping you to your feet. The bed was just a few feet away, but he made sure to support you the entire way there, before letting you climb up on your own. 

“T-t-thank you, s-sir,” you stuttered as you moved to the middle of the bed. 

You crossed your legs and leaned forward into the space, making yourself as small as possible whilst still giving you body some rest from its cramped-up position on the floor. Bruce was standing next to the bed, his expression soft and worried all the same. 

“How you feeling?” he asked, pocketing his hands in his robe. 

A question which was always easier to ask than answer. You didn’t know what you were feeling. It was all just dark, heavy, painful. There was no sorting through your emotions or thoughts. No passing through the darkness to get to the other side, or even land on anything solid. So you just hiccupped as an answer, another tear falling as you did. 

“Okay,” Bruce said softly, not pushing. 

He examined your face from a far, noticing the still steady stream of blood coming from your lip. The cut looked worse than it had before, deeper. It was bleeding enough to stain the neck of your shirt, the trail on your throat looking itchy and stale. 

“What happened?” he asked, before realizing the openness of that question. “Your lip, I mean,” he then added, pointing a finger to his own mouth. 

You hadn’t even reflected on that, but now that you came to think of it, your mouth was stinging, and the tears seeping into it definetly didn’t help. 

“I… I-I don’t know, I m-must have… I w-was y-yelling, and—” 

“Okay, okay,” Bruce interrupted when he saw the gleam of fresh tears begin to form. “I understand, it’s okay. It doesn’t seem to dry up, or close on its own. Would you mind if I take a closer look?” 

He made no sign to move closer to you before getting your approval or consent for him to do so. He could see how upset you were, and could put two and two together. Given your past, and his own past experiences with you, he knew how fragile you were, and he would be damned if he did anything to hurt you. Physically or mentally. 

You nodded shortly a few times, hoping he would see it. 

“Okay…” you added softly, just to make sure. 

Having a nurse or a doctor examining something always hurt a bit, but that pain was expected. You could prepare yourself, see it coming before feeling it. So when Bruce’s hand came up to cradle your chin, and a testing thumb pressed just under your lip, you knew the bite of pain would come long before it actually did. Your brows twitched together, and a slight tremble came to your lip as he kept prodding around the wounded area. 

“Okay,” Bruce said, seemingly to himself as he did the check. “The wound seems to be deeper than it initially was and has split further down your lip. I might have to put a stitch in it to keep it closed.”

He let go of your chin and took a step back from you, allowing you to wipe away the stray tears that just kept on falling. You were in no way done crying, or process everything that had happened, ever, in a calmer way. Your body was still actively trying to force a reaction which would relieve the ache it was carrying, but you put a lid on it, only allowing the smallest drops of pain through.

“A-alright,” you said through a sniffle.

Bruce looked at you, somewhat bewildered at your lack of concern for the pain of getting a stich set in place. Even with anesthesia, you would still feel the sting of that needle piercing the skin.

“It’s gonna hurt a bit,” he pointed out, moving towards one of the locked cabinets. “The mouth is a sensitive area, so you’re bound to feel it.”

He picked out the things he would need; the cotton balls which he spritzed with antibacterial alcohol, a pincer to hold the needle, as well as the thread and some gloves. He placed it all on a small silver tray on a trolley and wheeled it over towards the bed. He kicked the swivel stool from the corner over, and sat himself down beside you, and started readying his things.

“That’s okay,” you said. “I’m used to it.”

Bruce hated hearing those words come out your mouth. No one should ever be used to pain or be as comfortable with someone causing you pain as you were. You even moved closer to him, sitting on the edge of the bed facing him, as if inviting him to hurt you.

His mouth twitched for a second, his head nodding in neither an affirmative or negative way before he spoke.

“Do you want me to numb it? You’ll still feel some pain from that needle going in, and possibly some discomfort while I stitch, but at least it’s better than feeling the whole thing.”

He tried to sound lighthearted, but his worrisome expression betrayed him. He made to stand up and go get the medicine to help you through the discomfort of it all, but your strangled, sniveling words stopped him before he rose to his feet.

“T-that’s okay. I-I can take it.”

Bruce let his hands fall to his lap, letting out a sigh through his nose as he looked at your docile form.

“You shouldn’t have to,” he said. “Not when there’s help to get to make it less painful. You sure you don’t want the anesthesia?”

Whether it was the red, tear-streaked face that didn’t convince him, or the fact that your voice sounded like it had been grinded into a meatgrinder was hard to say. Maybe it was the combination of the two. Or maybe the evidence of past pain written on your body had something to do with it. He had seen parts of it after all. Whatever the nurse’s reasons were to act so kindly towards you, you were already convinced you deserved to feel as much pain as possible. You had always deserved it before, so why was this instance any different?

“I-I’m sure, sir.”

Bruce made quick and gentle work of patching you up. You didn’t miss the way his eyes shot up to yours from time to time, trying to assess how much pain he was causing you. But every time he did, he was met by nothing besides a quiet and compliant patient who simply let him do his work. Not even when the thread caught did you as much as shift. There was a pained twitch of your brows at times, but besides that, you didn’t even seem like you were present. 

This was not new to you. You had been in situations like this many times before, and knew that no matter what you did, no matter how much you didn’t want to go through with it, it was going to get done. At least Bruce was trying to be as gentle as he could, carefully cleaning the area as to not upset it more than necessary, before cleaning off the blood on your neck. 

He placed a small strip over the wound to help the stich keep it closed, making sure it was secured before wiping off the stray blood that had made its way down your chin. He took such care, moving slow and methodical until there was nothing left but a bruise, which was blooming a second time. 

“There we are,” he said, and put everything down on the tray with a clatter. 

“Thank you, s-sir,” you said, voice trembling and hushed with tears still left in your throat. 

“You are very welcome, Harper. Is there anything else I can do?” 

You knew he was just being his normal kind self, but any trust you’d had for anyone was gone. The risk of being hurt more than just physically was growing with every ‘yes’ to those questions. You didn’t need to invite bad luck into your life. It was already overflowing as it were. 

“N-no thank you, s-sir.” 

As you spoke, or maybe it was more of a whisper, another soft, warm tear travelled down your cheek, pooling at your clavicle before seeping into the fabric of your shirt. It wasn’t the most believable view you knew, but there was truly nothing the nurse could do for you now. Not unless he wanted to aid you in some other way with whatever drugs and medicine he had laying around, but you doubted that escape would come should you ask for it. 

Bruce searched your face, but you expression showed no sign of anything besides surrender and hopelessness. 

“You sure?” he asked. “Is there anything you need that I can get for you? Something to eat maybe, or read, or… Anything?”

He wanted nothing more than to help you in any way he could, but he watched your mental health deteriorate right before his eyes, helpless to do anything about it. The first time he had met you, when officer Rogers had brought you down with a broken wrist, you had looked more present than you did now, and that was saying something. You looked completely broken. 

“No, s-sir,” you whispered, your voice not bearing the strain. “I’m okay.” 

Not by a longshot, he thought, but he didn’t want to contradict you when you seemed to battle your own emotions and reactions as it were. But he wanted to offer his help anyway. 

“You’re not okay, Harper, but I’m not gonna push you,” he said as softly as he could. “Just… please let me know if there’s anything, anything at all that I can do for you. Even if it’s just lending an ear. I’ll… I’ll do whatever I can, okay?” 

Refusing might be rude, accepting might get you hurt. That’s the dilemma you were faced with every time someone offered a helping hand in a situation they knew nothing about. If they knew they couldn’t possibly help you, would they even bother to ask? You doubted it. Most people ran at the first sign of trouble, trauma or suffering. Bruce would probably run too if he knew. 

“T-thank you, s-sir,” you whispered, fighting back the tears still waiting to fall. 

Bruce nodded defeatedly, figuring that no matter what he did, the answer to his questions would always be the opposite of what he was hoping for. You would continue to decline any help offered, and he couldn’t really understand why. But he would respect it. 

“Let’s start an IV,” he said. “Don’t want you to dehydrate on me, do we?”

He was hoping that would maybe earn a smile, of at least a reaction other than you staring straight ahead, but he was disappointed, yet again. He rose to his feet and walked over to another cabinet and picked two different bags of fluids from it, locking it when done. He hung them both on the rod behind your bed, applying new tubes and drip chambers to them, since the D.O.C couldn’t afford any machines after the last budget cut. 

“I’ll give you a higher dose of morphine for a while to take the initial pain away,” he explained, picking up a syringe with saline to flush through your vein-catheter. “You might feel a little groggy at first, but that’s normal. Try to get some sleep too, you need it.” 

That said, he hooked both lines up with the catheter, making sure they were both flowing at the speed they should. He also checked so they didn’t pull, moving the rod a bit to make sure. 

“Okay,” he said, taking a step back. “I’ll be back in an hour or so to lower the dosage, but if there’s anything you need before that, don’t hesitate to hit the button.” 

He nodded to the button by the side of the bed, giving you a reassuring smile once your eyes slowly came up to meet his. You looked down at the button, then back to Bruce with a nod. 

“Thank y-you, s-sir.” 

Bruce didn’t linger, figuring that you wanted to be alone to let it all out again, hopefully managing to process some of it. He turned on his heel, and exited through the door, which once again locked in place after him. 

He went to his office across the small hallway, glancing back at you through the glass window before he closed his own door behind him. He could still see you through the window of his own door, but once he sat down at his desk he no longer did. 

Bruce sat down with a loud, exasperated sigh, leaning his arms on the smooth wooden surface. He had plenty of things to do, papers to fill out and forms to send off to the higher-ups, but he just needed a minute to refocus. His mind was still lingering on you, disappointed in his own effort to help. Logically, he knew that he had put the offer out there and that that was enough and the rest was up to you, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was letting you down. He honestly wanted to help you, but you wouldn’t let him in. 

Once the door closed behind nurse Banner, you let out what would have been a sigh, had it not been for the cry that overtook it. Putting a lid on things was something you had a talent for, but this was becoming too much. Usually you could will away tears when around another person, but you hadn’t even managed that. You were starting to really fall apart. You were crumbling. 

You cried and cried and cried, letting your body release whatever it needed, hoping the heaviness of it all would go away if you did. But the minutes passed and nothing changed but the speed of your tears, perhaps due to the numbness following the morphine. They were now only trickling down, following paths already made. Like slow, drizzling rain. It was just there. 

You had laid down on the bed, facing the door and windows should someone come. You were always on high alert it seemed, never able to relax or let your guard down. It was constantly up. It was exhausting. 

You hadn’t realized just how tired you were in all ways. Not just in body, but in mind and spirit. You were almost always emotionally drained, thoughts always spiraling down and memories always present. There was no escaping it. No reprieve. Nothing but constant pain. 

You wondered who would miss you if you were gone. You had no friends. No one who cared about you. They were all gone, they had all left you in fear of your life. Who was left? Jared? Your stepfather who you didn’t think you could ever look at the same again. Would he miss you? Doubtful. He might mourn for a moment, but in the end he would be relieved. Relieved not to have to face his own mistakes every time he saw you, to not be reminded all the time. 

Your mom. Your mom was gone. In all ways that mattered, she was gone. She was living in happy oblivion, careless and clueless of the pain she was leaving in the present, as she went on living in the past. 

You just wished that she could remember everything she’d had, everything she’d lost. Remember her life. Remember her daughter. But you had watched her fade, slip away, until the woman you knew, the woman that had raised you, was gone. In the end, she didn’t even recognize your face. 

You’d give anything if she could just come back to you, just for a minute. Just one more day with her as your mom. Just to say goodbye. You never got that chance. And you missed her. You missed her so much, even though she was still there. Still living, and breathing. But you missed her all the same. 

Memories of her, memories of small, seemingly insignificant moments of times when she’d held you, rocked you to sleep or patched up a bruise were swimming in your mind. They weren’t insignificant anymore. They weren’t things you would ever forget. They were things you hadn’t appreciated in the moment, had taken for granted because those moments would always be there. But now they weren’t. 

You were alone. You were alone in a world that wished you nothing but harm. You were alone in facing a life of pain. There was one left who cared for you. No one left to pick up any pieces. You were completely alone. But the worst feeling wasn’t being lonely. It was being forgotten by someone you’d never forget. 

You were forgotten. 

Left behind. 

Abandoned. 

O.o.O.o.O

Bucky was on his way down to medical. He wanted to make sure that you were okay after…everything. He knew that Fisher had already patrolled the area, saying you were okay when she checked, but he didn’t trust it. He didn’t trust something he hadn’t seen for himself, not when it came to your wellbeing at least. 

He opened the door leading into the hallway of the wing, turning his head to look through the window, finding you lying calmly on your bed. He didn’t want to disturb you, so he left it at only sneaking a peek through the glass. He noticed the blood staining your shirt, and your mouth and chin looking more irritated than before. Your lip had been bleeding quite a lot after the visit, so he wasn’t surprised to see it. But he’d still rather not see you hurt. 

You looked so tired. But you weren’t asleep, he could see your eyes, reddened by tears and heavy with sleep. He guessed, based on past experience, that you wanted to sleep, maybe even desperately so, but couldn’t relax enough to let yourself fall into unconsciousness.

Bucky sighed through his nose at the thought, ready to turn on his heel when he spotted a movement from the other room. He saw the unruly mop of hair he knew was Bruce, leaning over his desk, most likely filling out charts and signing papers. Perhaps he could get a little more information from him. 

He knocked softly on the door to the office, opening it as Bruce raised his gaze. 

“Officer Barnes,” he said, setting his pen aside. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Bucky smiled at the kind man, pocketing his hands as he stood in front of the desk. 

“Nothing, I was just curious to hear how Harper was doing.” 

Bruce nodded slowly, pondering the question and how he should answer it properly. He didn’t want to break any trust with you, but at the same time, you hadn’t really told him anything. 

“She’s…” he started, looking for his words. “She’s not doing too good, to be honest with you.” 

That’s not what Bucky had wanted to hear. He wanted to hear that you had made a miraculous recovery and was now a ray of sunshine with zero baggage. Which he knew was ludicrous, but still, didn’t stop him from dreaming. 

“No?” he said, turning his head to watch you through the windows. “I thought Doggett didn’t get a chance to do anything? I thought Stevie got there in time?” 

“No, no, no, she’s fine physically,” Bruce said. “Or, well, the cut on her lip took a turn for the worse and I had to stitch it, but… She’s not doing so good mentally.” 

Bucky looked back at Bruce, concern evident on hos face. 

“Worse than before?” he asked, to which Bruce nodded. 

“Yeah. I’ve seen her this… apathetic and indifferent before, but this… this is different. With everything she’s been through, the broken wrist, the stabbing, the punches… She’s never sat huddled in a corner, shaking like a leaf with fear _so_ evident in her eyes.” 

Silence filled the room for a moment, both men feeling the heaviness of your terrible state. Both men had seen you hurting before, seen the damage done, the physical pain that was caused by others. You had handled everything else. But maybe this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

“Heard anything from her lawyer?” Bruce asked, breaking Bucky from his trance as he had once again watched you. “About her case?”

Bucky cleared his throat as he sat down on the cot behind him to not have you in his line of vision anymore, bringing his hands together before him. 

“No,” he said as a matter-of-factly. “Caputo is keeping both me and Steve in the loop, but he has yet to mention anything. He said it was a complicated mess, which… doesn’t sound too promising when it comes to a court date being set anytime soon.” 

Bruce nodded along as Bucky spoke, but his mind didn’t focus on the court part. 

“How come you and Steve are so interested in Harper,” he asked. “I mean, both of you have been involved in every dispute she’s had… Wh-why the interest?” 

Bucky was a little taken aback by Bruce’s question, he hadn’t expected to be called out twice in one day. But Bruce’s words didn’t come off accusingly or aggressive in any way, more inquisitive and interested. Had he not, Bucky might have put his guard up again, but he took the opportunity to speak, slightly, more openly. 

“We were both friends with her stepbrother,” he explained. “Millers. He used to work here.”

“Blond hair, a variety of tattoos?” Bruce asked, to which Bucky nodded, as did Bruce. 

“Yeah, that’s him. He was… not God’s greatest child, I’ll admit that, but… he was an okay guy, good company. Plus, we all shared an interest in motorcycles, so… I guess we clicked on some level.”

Bucky took a moment to compose his thought, trying to line them all up and not let too much slip. He wasn’t about to confess to the fucked-up things he himself had done to you, he had more self-preservation than that. But he couldn’t hide the feelings of shame by doing so. Not to himself. 

“Turns out he wasn’t such a nice guy after all,” he went on, eyes almost glued to the floor, or his boots. “We didn’t know anything about it, but… he said certain things that might, that _should have_ , raised a red flag for me and Steve, but it didn’t. After he died, we kinda… defended him. We were convinced that… Harper had meant to do it, that it was calculated murder, and we… weren’t very nice to her in the beginning. I guess we’re just trying to make up for it. Trying to keep her safe from any more harm.” 

Bruce had sat quietly the entire time Bucky had spoken, listening intently to the confession. He understood better now why they were so intent on being there to help you, why Steve had been the one to bring you to the medical wing not once, but twice. Why they were always involved. Because they were always by your side now. But there was one part that he couldn’t help but wonder about. 

“Did _you_ ever do her harm?” he asked gently, not wanting to upset the man, or step on anyone’s toes. 

Bucky looked up at Bruce, meeting his eyes. He didn’t look judgmental, or like he was building a case against him or Steve in any way. He looked… concerned. Like he usually did. 

Bucky gave a halfhearted scoff which held no amusement, more like he was seeing the sarcasm of the situation. 

“We weren’t the most… fair or gentle correctional officers in our correcting, no.”

Bruce just nodded, appreciating Bucky’s candor. He wasn’t in any position to judge. He didn’t know anything about what the guards really had to go through on a day to day basis, so he couldn’t possibly judge. And as a man, Bucky seemed to be trying to make amends, make up for his mistakes. And Steve had been nothing but caring when he had seen him. 

“Well,” Bruce said, breaking the tight silence that had fallen over the small room. “At least you’re both here now, right?”

Bucky let out a small laugh through a smile, meeting Bruce’s kind and smiling face in return. He nodded, grateful for the now comfortable silence. 

O.o.O.o.O

The steady drip of the morphine was almost hypnotizing. You watched the droplets fall, one after the other. Drip. Drip. It was slow. Steady. Just like how it was pumping directly into your vein, flowing so softly through the clear line. 

It would be so easy. It would be so easy to just open the tap all the way, and let it pour instead of flow. It was right there. You could reach it effortlessly. Just reach out and turn the lock on the chamber to fully open, and let sweet, sweet oblivion take over until you would never wake up again. Never have to face the world again. 

There would be no pain. No fear. No doubt. Nothing bad would ever touch you again. You could rest, at last. Just let go. Go to sleep. Leave this painful world behind. Save yourself. Escape. At last. 

You knew the wounds would never heal. Your body might heal, but your mind had been shattered long ago. Broken into smithereens. The pain was unbearable. You had fought, you had tried, and hoped, and prayed that the pain would stop, but it never did. And it never would. No matter how much time passed, no matter how many times you got back up… There was just too much that time cannot erase. There was just too much. 

It was supposed to hurt less. As time passed, it was supposed to hurt less. It wasn’t supposed to be so painful to be alive. Time was supposed to heal the wounds, not open up the old ones, or create new ones. It was supposed to hurt less. It was supposed to hurt less. 

Your fingers found the hard plastic lock, twisting it, feeling it dig into your skin. It was even easier than you’d thought. The lock moved to fluently, so effortlessly, until the tap was completely open, and the clear fluid started to pour. You let your hand fall down to the matrass, resting it under your cheek as you waited. 

Time seemed to be still as a calm settled over the room. It felt safe. It felt warm. Like a heartfelt embrace. Like a welcome. 

You just lie there, comfortably waiting. Inside your chest, your heart was beginning to flutter, beating too quick. Your lungs drew air with heavy breaths. Your body started to feel heavy, denser than before. It was becoming hard to keep your eyes open. 

Soon, your heart slowed its rapid beats. Your breaths became slow and shallow, and a serenity coursed through your entire body. You let your eyes fall closed, the hint of a faint smile on your lips. It was done. It would hurt less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is there when I leave the story on hiatus? ;)


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No fearless flowers for you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The much-awaited continuation... 
> 
> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Death, mentions of scars and molestation, puking.

“Well, at least you’re both here now, right?” 

Bucky let out a small laugh through a smile, meeting Bruce’s kind and smiling face in return. He nodded, taking the sympathetic words to heart. Bruce was a lover, not a fighter, and he never shied away from showing that side of him. He was a forgiving and understanding man, though Bucky didn’t doubt that there was some judgment somewhere below the surface, he just didn’t want to show it. 

“We’re trying,” he said after a moment or two. 

Bruce nodded slowly, smile still there, still soft. He looked down at the mess of papers on his desk, moving some things around. Bucky wondered if he perhaps had overstayed his welcome. 

“I should probably go,” he said, putting it out there before Bruce had to kick him out so he could work. “Thanks for the chat.” 

“Oh, it was my pleasure, Barnes. Anytime.”

Bucky got up from his seated position on the cot, nodding shortly at the other man. 

“Hey, uh,” Bruce said, stopping him in his tracks before he could take another step. “There’s some blood on her shirt, perhaps you could bring down a clean one for her? It’s gotta be itchy, and she might wanna clean up once she’s rested.”

Bucky guessed it would take more than a simple shower to leave you feeling clean after everything that had happened to you, but however small means to help you get there he was happy to supply. Whatever you needed to get you through your day. He nodded to Bruce, before turning his head when he once again could spot you through the windows.

“Sure, I’ll bring her a fresh set,” he said, watching your sleeping form. 

“Thank you,” Bruce said, and looked down at his papers. 

But the officer didn’t leave, which Bruce thought was strange. He looked up, finding him lost in thought or something of the likes, staring straight ahead. He didn’t seem to have anything more to say, and they had ended the conversation on a good note, at least Bruce thought so.

“Barnes?” he asked, but Bucky didn’t look away from whatever he was looking at. 

“Is she sleeping?” he asked, but he sounded quite puzzled by the possibility. 

“Oh, yeah, I-I told her to get some rest,” Bruce explained. 

“Huh.”

During the entire length of your stay at Litchfield, sleeping was something that didn’t come easily for you, at least not in Bucky’s experience. Even when it might, you seemed to force it away. Like you didn’t want to sleep, or didn’t dare. So why were you all of a sudden comfortable enough to sleep, with people in the other room? And right after such a tumultuous day, no less. 

“Something wrong?” Bruce asked, when hearing the surprise lacing Bucky’s voice. 

“I’m just… I didn’t think she slept that well, is all. Just surprised to see her look so… relaxed, I guess.”

That got Bruce’s attention. The guards knew you better than he did, and he trusted their knowledge of their prisoners. Plus, Bruce was somewhat of the same understanding when it came to your sleeping patterns. 

He got up from his chair, the worn wheels scraping the floor as it was pushed back, and walked over to the officer. He pocketed his hands, looking over at where you lay, sound and still. 

“I was gonna check on her after an hour or so, but I might as well do it now,” Bruce said, which seemed to calm them both down a bit. 

He pushed the door to his office open and reached his tag over towards the pad to unlock the door to the patient’s room. Bucky followed behind, feeling more uneasy as the seconds passed. Both tried to keep quiet, not wanting to wake you after you had finally been able to fall asleep. But suddenly, Bruce stopped, standing dead still as he watched you. With his worry building a tenfold, Bucky searched your entire face and body just the same. 

“Is she breathing?” he asked. 

And like the trained medic he was, Bruce sprung into action, with Bucky watching like a hawk over his shoulder. 

“Harper? Harper, can you hear me?” he asked, over and over as he rolled you to your back, watching you head move limply from the movement. 

He picked up the small light he carried in his robe, flashing a light into both eyes; your pupils were constricted and unresponsive. He quickly checked your pulse, but he couldn’t feel any movement of blood beneath his fingers. 

“What the hell..?” he said under his breath, glancing over at the bags hanging from the rod. 

The morphine drip should not be so low in quantity. His eyes shot down to the lock, finding it completely open. Bruce knew immediately what had happened. 

“What is it?” Bucky asked, voice tight and scared. 

“She’s overdosed on morphine, she’s unresponsive, without a pulse. We need to start CPR. Here, get in here! Start CPR right away.”

Bruce moved out the way and let Bucky step in, as he himself pulled the tubes from your vein catheter to stop the flow of the drug into your system. Bucky wasted no time, immediately starting to press his hands down right over your heart, compressing at a steady beat. 

Deep down he could hear the scared and guilty thoughts screaming at him what a failure he was, how this was all his fault, but he buried them all under his focus. They would not compromise this, not when he was trying to save your life. 

He had done this several times before, but that was different. Not only was the other person usually bleeding with a hole somewhere in their body, or a limb blown off by a mine; they were not dying from a drug overdose. They were never dying for reasons he couldn’t see. He told himself there was no more to it than that, that he had no other thoughts or questions on the matter. No other worries of cause.

“She needs oxygen!” Bruce informed, running to the cabinets and pulling out Naloxone in hopes of reversing the effects of the morphine. 

Bucky didn’t need to be told twice. He variated between giving you heart compressions and mouth to mouth in a calculated interval, remembering his own breathing as he did. Whenever he had imagined his own lips meeting yours, it was not to breathe life back into your body. It was not in a moment of fear and death. It was not to save your life. You were not supposed to be unresponsive. 

Bruce came running back, injecting you with the drug right into your vein, flushing it afterwards with saline. 

“Keep giving her CPR,” he instructed, as he ran to the corner to unlock the crash cart they had ready for emergencies.

He rolled the cart over, charging the defibrillator to the required setting and started undoing your hoodie between Bucky’s compressions and moving it away. 

“Rip her shirt,” Bruce told Bucky, as he turned around to pick up the pads that would go on your chest, needing the skin to skin contact for it to work. 

How thoughts could even push through his steel focus was a mystery, but with each tearing seam of your white cotton shirt, Bucky prepared himself for what lay underneath. He told himself not to look, not to judge, that whatever lay hidden was not there by your choice and was something you wanted to keep safe from scrutiny. But as more scars, more marks came into view, he felt a little bit sicker, a little bit angrier. A little bit more… guilty. 

He ripped the fabric straight down the middle, all the way down so he could fan it out on the sides and leave room for whatever Bruce needed to do. And he hated what he saw. Small, pale dots in some places. Wide, stitched cuts in others, and thin gashes left to heal on their own accompanying them all over. And the purple bruise blossoming around the cut caused by Aleida’s shiv, a splash of color to finish it off, along with the added finger sized yellowing bruises around your hips and shoulder he knew he himself had caused. It was like an abstract painting. Like a Jackson Pollock piece. 

And there, right there, at the bottom of your abdomen was the healed version of what he had witnessed in its making, what he had seen spewing blood as you were tied to the floor as your stepbrother loomed over you. The lines were bolder, thicker than he had thought they would be. The scar hadn’t paled like the rest had. It stood out. In all ways. There was no mistaking the intention of it. It had been made to mark you forever. To not heal. To not fade.

Bucky felt like he had stood there staring for hours, but in reality it had only been a few seconds. He felt like he knew every inch of your body, could recite the verses of it to any poet, when in truth he had only gotten a glimpse. He had only seen the surface. Only seen the present, forever tarnished by the past. Forever broken. 

“Her bra, too,” Bruce said, breaking Bucky from his thoughts. 

He looked up, a bit unsure, a bit stunned. He didn’t want to bare you like that. He didn’t want to leave you so exposed, so vulnerable. But he did it anyway. He had to do it. 

With strong hands, he ripped the thicker cotton of the gray sports bra in half, the seams battling him at the bottom for a second before they surrendered. He hesitated for a moment, before letting the pieces fall to the side, leaving your bared and naked to the world. 

He placed his hands back on your now naked chest, palms meeting the soft warmth of your skin. He felt himself holding back, not pressing down as hard for the first few pushes, until he eventually found his rhythm and pressure again. After all, it wasn’t the first time his hands had touched your chest.

Bruce placed the sticky patches on the skin protecting your heart, connecting them to the monitor to see your heartrate. The machine buzzed to life, and a shrill beep sounded in the room as the flat line moved across the screen as soon as Bucky stilled his hands. 

“Okay, go,” Bruce said so Bucky knew to continue, until he placed the paddles where they needed to be. “Clear!”

Bucky moved away, and Bruce pressed down. Your chest jumped up as the electric current coursed through your body, shocking your heart. Lines appeared on the screen, before dying away again. 

“Clear!” 

Another shock, another current through your body forcing it to jolt, but no signs of life appeared. Bucky felt his hands start to shake the more the seconds passed and nothing happened, staring down at your face. You looked so calm, so peaceful. He had never seen lines of worry on your face before, or a tightness in your brow. But looking down at you now, seemingly asleep, he realized how wrong he had been. How much pain you had actually carried on your face for everyone to see, yet no one had. 

“Rescue breath,” Bruce called out to break Bucky’s trance while he himself upped to voltage on the paddles.

Once again, Bucky placed his mouth over yours, pinching your nose and gave you his breath. He could see the rise and the fall of your bared chest, hoping and praying that it would be enough. 

“Clear!” Bruce yelled again, placing the paddles on your skin again. 

Another shock, another current of electricity, another jump of a heartbeat on the monitor. Only this time, it kept going. 

“She’s got a pulse,” Bruce said, practically celebratory. 

Bucky felt like he hadn’t taken a breath in years, relieved beyond belief to hear those little words. He didn’t get a chance to even ask what the next step was, before you all of a sudden opened your eyes with terror, and drew your own breath for the first time. 

O.o.O.o.O

Quiet. 

Calm.

Serene. 

Like floating in the water, moving with the waves as they stretched for the shore. 

Warm.

Soft. 

Tender. 

Like rays of sunshine beaming down on hot skin, an embrace of warmth and peace. 

It was comfortable. 

It was safe. 

There was a passage you had heard once, or maybe it was a poem. You had thought about it many times, wondering over what the person who wrote it must feel. _When I die, plant flowers over my grave, so when the seeds bloom, you can pick me and hold me again._

You didn’t want flowers on your grave. You didn’t want anyone to ever pick a piece of you, to ever touch you again. You wanted to be safe. Locked away from the world. Six feet under ground, covered by the soil. Where no one could ever pick a piece of you ever again. 

How wonderful it must be to not feel like that. To not feel like you had felt. To not bear the same pain as you had for so many years. To not be so scared all the time. To not fear the people in your life. To want them to always have a piece of you with them, to always carry you in their hearts. To always remember. 

You hoped that you would forget. That in death, memory was something you chose. You could choose to only remember the good things, only remember certain parts, and leave the rest behind in life. Leave the bad ones in the past. Where they belong. 

Though you had always seen death as beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grass waving above your head and listen to the silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forget life. To be at peace. Maybe that was how the person who wrote the poem felt. That same peace, only with fearless flowers. 

It felt strange. Death felt strange. As if stuck somewhere between what if, what could have been, and what never would. But it was good. It was a good kind of strange. Like that first intake of breath when stepping into a warm bath. Still the same, yet so different. 

There was no pain. There was no fear, and no doubt. There was hope. There was peace. There was warmth. It was safe. It had been so long since you had felt it, you could almost not place the feeling. But the more it surrounded you, the more you remembered it. The more it welcomed you into its embrace.

You were warm. You were loved. And you were finished. 

Complete. 

Pain. Pain reached for you. You felt it as it moved through you, hot and sharp. And then again. It became heavy. It became hard. Everything around you was so hard, so dark and so bright. It pulled at you, forcing you to the surface, forcing you back. You didn’t want to be there. You didn’t want to go. Not just yet. But suddenly… there you were. 

Your eyes shot open as your inhaled more air than what your lungs could bear. You coughed, the air burning your throat and airways, scorching you from the inside, burning you. It felt like it was trying to kill you, trying to punish you for not breathing. 

“Harper? Harper? Jess, can you hear me?”

Someone was talking, but you couldn’t hear what they were saying. You couldn’t see anyone. It was too bright, it was too much. 

“Take it easy, Jess. Deep breaths. Easy.”

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t not breathe. No matter what you did, it burned, it ached. It hurt. Everything hurt again. Why did it hurt again?

You felt something else start to force its way up your throat. You barely managed to turn your body to the side in time, before the contents of your stomach hit the floor and splattered on someone’s shoes, but you couldn’t see whose. Eventually nothing but bile came up, making your stomach cramp up in painful tugs. You hung over the railing of the bed, slowly finding your breath, your footing in the world. In the world you had tried to escape. In the world you had left behind. 

You breathed heavily, closing your eyes to hide away from the blinding light in the room. Everything was so bright, so heavy. You hadn’t felt this heavy before. You had been light, floating. It hadn’t been this hard. 

Slowly, your heart slowed down from its racing beat, no longer trying to crush your chest from the inside. Fingers, arms, legs, they all came back to you. You could feel them, you were aware of their existence again. They felt distant and too close at the same time, like they weren’t your real limbs, like they weren’t attached properly. You could feel something wet on your face, sliding down your cheeks from your eyes. Tears. Those were tears. You felt something cold, something hard press at your chest, and you realized you were still hanging over the railing. But why was it cold? 

Something, or rather someone, grazed a hand down your back, caressing in an attempt to ground you. They were trying to be calming, trying to be reassuring, but all you could feel was the alarm bells going off inside your mind that you were being touched. That you were in danger. That you needed to escape. 

Your hand grasped the railing beside you, trying to push you away. You felt weak, but you felt movement regardless. Soon you were on your back again, breathing calmed as your eyes began to focus again. Shapes moved on either side of you, one in white, one in blue. It looked like they were talking. Before long, everything present started coming back to you. You could soon see, soon hear, soon feel. And what you felt, startled you. 

Your chest was cold. Your stomach was cold. Your torso was bared. Oh, no. Hide. Hide away. Don’t let anyone see. No one should see what you were keeping hidden, keeping safe. 

Your hand, heavy with the cast, came up to feel your abdomen, finding the bumpy skin bared. Without realizing it, something sounding like a pained moan escaped your mouth in lieu of words at the touch, fearful of what might have happened, who might have seen. You couldn’t feel any fabric, any clothes nearby, and panic was starting to build inside your chest. 

When you had woken, when you had opened your eyes in terror and gasped like you were drowning in air, Bucky had to rein himself in, hold himself back not to come to your rescue. He wanted nothing more than to hold you, keep you safe and tell you that everything was going to be okay. He wanted to protect you, take the pain away and help you in whatever way he could. 

But you were panicking. Coughing, crying, barfing. You didn’t seem to be aware of them even in the room with you, let alone hear him or Bruce talking to you. You were just trying to survive. And he had to let you. There was nothing he could do once life was back inside you, once your heart was beating again and your lungs drew air on their own. This was not a part he could do for you. But he damn well wished he could. 

When he saw your searching hand fall on the worst scar he had ever seen, and heard the fear in your moan, he understood what you wanted. Quickly, he grabbed the scraps of fabric, pulling them back over to cover you, but they wouldn’t meet. 

“Easy, easy, I got you,” he said softly, finding your hoodie at the sides and zipping it up to cover you from view. 

You heard his voice. You knew that voice. You had heard it before. It wasn’t always that soft, that gentle. It had been rough, hard, loud. It had told you nasty things. It had scared you, hurt you. It had tried to comfort you in the past, tried to apologize to you too. You knew that voice. 

Slowly, your head rolled to the side, trying to find the source of that voice. He was standing next to you, his arms stretched out over you, moving something around your body, but you didn’t see what. His face came into focus, strands of dark hair hanging across his forehead. His blue eyes met yours. And you remembered. 

“Hey,” Bucky said as gently as he could, smiling down at you. 

He wasn’t sure if he was waiting for any kind of response, or if he just wanted to welcome you back into the land of the living, but the simple greeting felt right. He watched your brows knit together, as if you didn’t understand what he was saying. 

“Jess?” he tried, but he was met with the same reaction. 

Bucky looked over at Bruce who was jumping between watching the interaction between the two of you, and the monitor showing your heartrate. It was going up and down, adrenaline still pumping through your system, the morphine still very much present. 

“Jess,” Bruce asked, and you rolled your head to his side. “Jess, can you hear me? Do you know where you are?” 

You knew where you were. You were exactly where you didn’t want to be. You were alive. As for coordinates? Litchfield penitentiary upstate New York. You were locked in, behind concrete, gates and barbed wire fences. A prison. A cage. You were caged in. Again. 

Rolling your head back, you stared straight up at the ceiling. Things were starting to come back as the rush of survival started to fade. Thoughts, feelings, and wounds. They were screaming for attention. Angry that they had been forgotten, abandoned for something better. Something peaceful. Something painless. So now… they were causing you even more pain than before. Just to make sure that you felt alive. That you felt the pain of living. And it made you miss death like you had never even been alive in the first place. 

O.o.O.o.O 

Bucky didn’t know what to do with himself, or what to do at all for that matter. Bruce had asked him to leave medical and let him run some tests and take care of you, but Bucky didn’t want to leave your side after that. Not after almost losing you. So he found himself in search of Steve, something solid, something palpable to bring him back down to earth. Someone who he could talk to, and who could talk some sense into him. 

He hurried through the hallways, passing several infractions without doing a thing about them. If the inmates wanted to play loud music, or argue over who was first in line to use the microwave, then fine by him. He had more urgent things to attend to. Like getting his head screwed back on straight. 

Steve was in the mail room, sorting through his own box to see if anything caught his interest or was urgent. He flipped through the envelopes in hand, sorting them in his own special order like the nerd he was, not hearing Bucky approach outside the door. 

“Steve,” Bucky said, a bit breathless, and looking nervous. 

Steve raised his head from the mix of letters, finding his friend in a bit of a state.

“Everything okay?” he asked, turning towards his friend, mail still in his hands. 

Bucky looked past him, eyes landing on CO Kowalski and O’Neill sitting by the table and sorting through the inmate’s mail. He’d rather not have his little freak-out in front of them, and he’d rather not have to watch what he was saying, or pick his words with care. He needed to vent, and he needed to vent bad. 

His eyes flicked back to Steve’s, who turned his head quickly to see what Bucky was trying to point out behind him, and got the message. He put his mail back in the box, clearing his throat for a bit of attention. 

“Gentlemen,” he said as a simple goodbye to the other men in the room, who both just responded with unbothered hums as the other officers departed. 

They found some much-needed privacy in a vacant office, Bucky already pacing around the room before Steve even got a chance to close the door behind them. He waited there, folding his arms over his chest in the wait for his friend to find his words. Bucky dragged his hands through his hair over and over, then down over his mouth, not knowing what to do, or what to say. 

“What happened?” Steve asked when the silence drew. 

“She died,” Bucky said bluntly. 

“What?!” 

It was the truth, you _had_ died, you were dead, but maybe that wasn’t the best sentence to lead with. Bucky drew a deep breath, feeling the nerves and anxiousness ease as he let it out. 

“She overdosed on morphine, she died, and we brought her back,” he explained, a tad more calmly this time. Just a tad. 

Steve had been standing there looking like a vacant birdhouse with his jaw dropped. His pulse had spiked like he was sprinting to the finish line of a marathon, sweat starting to bead his hairline. 

“What do you mean she overdosed on morphine?” he almost barked out. 

“I mean she overdosed on morphine, Steve! I mean that her bloodstream was overflowing with opioid medication enough to stop her heart and kill her! Can I make it anymore clear to you?” 

Bucky hadn’t really meant to yell, and especially not at Steve, but he just wanted him to get with the program so they could move on with the conversation. Plus, Steve was his friend and that meant that he was a human punching bag when needed, at least to some extent. It was the pros and cons of a relationship. You win some, you lose some. 

“How could she overdose? What happened?” Steve asked with a tight voice. 

Bucky finally stopped his pacing, leaning his head back to take a deep breath, and actually bring himself back down to earth. 

“I don’t know,” he said, softer this time. “But I think she did it to herself. I think she meant to do it.”

There it was. There they were. The thought, the words he didn’t want to hear, didn’t want to say, but it’s what he thought. It was what he feared. He couldn’t escape the very real possibility that you had in fact done this to yourself. That this was no accident, that this was no mistake, but a conscious choice on your part. 

Steve wasn’t really ready to just cash in, just take that and run with it, accepting that as a fact. He wasn’t going to jump on that bandwagon and roll with the punches of you being that emotionally distraught. No, no, this was not on you. 

“What? No-no, she—Maybe Banner made a mistake? Okay? Maybe he gave her the wrong dose? Tell me what happened, Buck?” 

Bucky wanted to believe, _hope_ , that it was Banner who had in fact made a mistake. That he had missed a detail, miscalculated or… something! Anything that didn’t mean that you had wanted to die. But thinking back on it, it wasn’t that black or white. 

“I was talking to Bruce,” he started, trying to remember the events. “We were in his office, and when I went to leave, I saw her through the window. She looked so relaxed, so peaceful I thought she was sleeping, which is strange ‘cause she doesn’t really sleep. So Bruce went to check, probably thinking the same, how strange it was… And when we got to her… she wasn’t breathing. I gave her CPR while Banner gave her… something, fuck knows, but he gave her something to either wake her up, or reverse the morphine, but she didn’t wake up. He got the defibrillator, and told—… told me to rip her shirt so he could attach some sticky pads on her chest to monitor her heartrate. And I did, I ripped her shirt, I ripped her bra and—and I saw her chest. I saw her…abdomen, and fuck, Steve. Millers was beyond fucked up, ‘cause if you’d seen what I saw…” 

Bucky cut himself short, not wanting to linger on the memory. But it was etched into his vision. He could see every inch of your torso before him, trace every scar in his mind. 

Steve looked down at the floor, trying to comprehend what it must have been like, what Bucky must have been through seeing it all up close and personal. He had seen his fair share of pics and clips online, but to actually see the healed version, the lived-through portrayal of it all, he wouldn’t know what to think. And it just piled on his conscious. 

“Then what?” he asked, trying to get Bucky back to telling what had taken place down at medical. 

Bucky sighed deeply, a tightness in his chest keeping it from being even remotely calming. 

“He shocked her. Three times I think. I’m not sure, it felt like forever. We saw some lines on the monitor, and then… then suddenly, she opened her eyes and… she breathed.” 

Now it was Steve’s turn to draw a deep breath, letting it out through his nose. His arms squeezed over his chest as it expanded, and he used the feeling to ground himself. 

“Wow…” he let out under his breath. 

Bucky scoffed, annoyed at the small word. 

“Wow?” he questioned. “That’s all you got to say? Wow?” 

Steve furrowed his brows together, perplexed by the newly kindled heat of Bucky’s voice. 

“What can I say, Buck? I—”

“Maybe, oh, I don’t know, something other than wow? You didn’t see her, Steve. You didn’t see the fuckin’ terror in her eyes when she woke up, the panic in her breath. Maybe if you had, you would have something other to say than a fuckin’ wow,” he spat out. 

“Hey, I’m sorry you had to see that, Bucky, I really am. But you just threw this information at me. At least give me a second to process, alright?” 

Bucky glared at him, anger and hurt melding in his eyes. 

“Process?” he said. “What the fuck is there to process, Steve? We have hurt an innocent girl. We have caused her so much fuckin’ pain, fucked up her entire life and her time here in prison, which she had no business being sent to to begin with, that she’d rather kill herself than live through another damn day! It’s pretty fuckin’ simple, Stevie. Alright?”

“It’s not that easy, Bucky,” Steve defended. “Yes, we have hurt her. Yes, we have made her life miserable, but this it not just on us.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really.” 

Silence fell between the two for a moment, both letting their thoughts grow, emotions settle. Or at least tried to. 

“Okay, so you think that if Millers hadn’t done what he did, she wouldn’t want to kill herself, is that what you’re saying?” Bucky asked. 

“Yes! If it weren’t for Millers, she wouldn’t even be here in the first place. We wouldn’t have treated her like we did, and we wouldn’t have fucked everything up.” 

The calm of Bucky’s voice was not reassuring once he spoke. It was not peaceful, or simple. It was the hurtful truth. 

“Doesn’t change the fact that we still did, Steve.” 

Steve couldn’t argue with that. He could try and explain away, excuse their behavior and actions on vengeful agendas, blame the dead guy for what he caused them to do. But it didn’t take away the fact that they had done it. That it had happened. They had kicked someone who was down. Blamed someone who was blameless, and shamed someone who was shameless. They had done that. Not Millers. 

“No, it doesn’t,” he admitted. 

Bucky looked up from having been staring down at the floor, hoping it would eat him alive and swallow him whole so he wouldn’t have to deal with all this anymore. 

“Do you still think she wouldn’t have tried to kill herself if it weren’t for Millers?” 

Steve shook his head slowly, a quick quirk of his brows to the heavens. 

“I don’t know.” 

Bucky clenched his jaw, feeling his molars grind painfully together by the force. 

“All I know is that we did enough, by any means, to hurt someone so badly that they’d rather end it than live through that another goddamn day. Whatever the reason, whatever fucking excuse we use, it’s not gonna change the fact that we… that we raped her.” 

They hated hearing that word. Hated using that word. But no other word fit the description of the event, there was nothing else they could call it. It wasn’t domination, it wasn’t a powerplay. It was rape. Two guards had raped a helpless inmate. And that inmate had the worst history imaginable, familiar with the treatment and unspoken rules of that game. You even knew the game better. You had saved their asses by not telling, and that was the truth. 

Steve sighed yet again, looking up at the ceiling and around the room as he pinched his own neck. Their lives were a mess. They had created a mess. A mess with you in the middle. And you had tried to untangle that mess, taking yourself out of the equation by the only way you could think of. 

“So, what happens now?” Steve asked, clearing his throat to get rid of the lump lodging itself there. 

Bucky shook his head, watching a spot on the wall or the floor just to keep from having to meet his friend’s tired face. A face most likely mirroring his own.

“I don’t know,” he said defeatedly. “Bruce wanted to run some tests and keep her under observation. I don’t know what the affects of the morphine are, or what it’ll do to her but… she’s in good hands.” 

They both knew that was true. There was no one in the entire prison who could possibly care for you any better than Banner, but that didn’t take away the pain they both felt. The blame, the guilt, the shame. They could never escape what they had done, the pain they had caused you in so many ways. There was no quick-fix that would magically make it all go away, and allow them to walk away guiltfree. 

And what hurt even more, was the feeling that had crept up and burrowed itself into Bucky’s mind as soon as your eyes opened again. As soon as he saw the sheer horror written on your face. A feeling persistent enough that it pushed aside all other emotions, all other thoughts and left him in the inevitable echo; that he had only hurt you more, by saving your life. That he had, once again failed you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excited to hear your thoughts on this chapter! Please leave me a little comment, I answer all of them :)


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jess shares some thoughts and feelings... Some very sad, depressive feelings...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Depressive thoughts and themes, mentions of death, scars, restraints, emotional pain.

“I could’ve missed it, I could have made a mistake. We don’t know that it was her.”

Bruce was currently in Caputo’s office, letting him know about what had happened. He was met with disbelief and misplaced blame, which he had expected. Joe Caputo was a fair man, and gave credit when credit was due, but sometimes he could be too blunt. 

It was protocol to always inform the captain as soon as something like this happened, and Bruce had already spent more than a few hours running tests and observing you. He had told Bucky to wait and not tell Caputo before he could be sure that you were in fact okay, he didn’t want anyone running down to medical and interrogate you only minutes after you were conscious again. 

“Bruce, you didn’t make a mistake. This isn’t on you,” Joe said from the other side of his desk.

He had known Bruce Banner for many years, and he trusted the man with his own life should he need to. He rarely made mistakes, and if he did, it was usually a missed signature on a form, not a medical mishap. And he also knew that Bruce saw the best in people, and didn’t like putting the blame on someone without all the facts. But in Caputo’s mind, Bruce’s care and attentiveness was a fact. 

“We don’t know that,” Bruce said again, shaking his head repeatedly, trying to convince both himself and his boss. 

Joe sighed. He leaned back in his chair for a second, before standing up and walked around the desk. He sat himself down on the edge of his desk, just to the side of Bruce, who was still somewhat rocking back and forth, staring at the now empty chair on the other side. 

“Harper is a deeply troubled young woman who has suffered immense pain and abuse,” Joe explained, watching Bruce’s head sag as he went on. “A suicide attempt is not surprising. It is still very sad, of course it is, but I don’t want you to blame yourself. This is not on you. It’s on us. We should have done more. I should have done more. God, I shouldn’t have hired Millers in the first place.”

He felt angry with himself, disappointed in his lack of perception and judge of character. He should have known something was up with Millers, seen some sign of his disturbed nature. To know he let someone like that walk around unattended... 

“No offense, sir,” Bruce said, snapping Joe out of his thoughts as he looked up at him. “But I doubt that would have done anything for Harper.”

Joe knew, deep down, that that was true. Maybe if he hadn’t given him the job, he would have been home and around you, an opportunity to hurt you even more than he had managed to in his downtime. But he didn’t like that he had kept that guy around, had him interacting with the rest of the staff and the inmates. Who knew what he might have gotten into?

“And she didn’t attempt it,” Bruce added. “If it actually was her, if I didn’t make a mistake... She meant to do it. And she succeeded.” 

An attempt meant that the person failed in their mission, and you hadn’t. You had successfully killed yourself with an overdose. You were dead for several minutes, how many exactly Bruce didn’t know, but that didn’t make you any less dead. 

Caputo nodded, agreeing with the fact. 

“I can’t really blame the girl,” he said. “The footage that was leaked...” he said and let out a puff of air. “Man. That would leave anyone damaged.” 

Now it was Bruce’s turn to nod. 

“Yeah, I guess it would,” he said. 

Joe cleared his throat and rose to his feet. He picked the glasses from the top of his head where they had rested, and put them back on as he sat back down at his desk, picking up a thankfully rarely used form. 

“And the officer in the room?” he asked, keeping it formal again as he prepared his pen. 

“Officer Barnes.” 

“Ah, yes, Barnes,” Joe said as he scribbled the name down. “Good man. An army man. Couldn’t have asked for better back up, am I right?”

Bruce looked up, giving his superior a tight smile, but a smile nonetheless. It felt wrong to smile in this regard, even though he was grateful for the help he had received from the officer. If he hadn’t been there, Bruce wasn’t sure he would have managed to save you in time. 

“Yeah, kept a cool head,” Bruce said, scratching his own head. “I-I haven’t talked to him since... since it happened, but he seemed fine. After, I mean.”

Caputo looked up from his papers, meeting the worry written on Bruce’s face. 

“Don’t worry, Banner. He has seen a lot worse, I’m sure. How are you doing? Must have been intense.” 

Bruce was more worried about you, or his fellow colleague, but when asked the question, he realized he was a more than a little freaked out. It was the first time he had ever brought someone back from a suicide. The rest, the starting someone’s heart, giving CPR himself and all the aftercare, he had done many times. But the core of the situation had never been this. 

“I...” he started, trying to find his words. “I’m a little taken aback, if I’m honest, sir.”

He gave a short and nervous chuckle to ease the tension, but he felt the worry creep back up nonetheless. 

“That’s understandable, Bruce,” Caputo said gently. “Can’t blame you. Do you need some time off? Get some rest and let the dust settle?” 

He was tired and he probably needed some rest after this day, but Bruce felt responsible for you. He feared you might try something again if he wasn’t there, and he could not bear that on his conscious. He had missed it all once, he couldn’t bear to fail you again. 

“I’d rather keep her eye on her, if that’s alright? I’ll have to leave her with the night nurse anyway, so... I’d rather stay the rest of the day.” 

“Sure, sure, whatever you want”, Joe said. “But if you need to, don’t hesitate. We’ll get a body up from Max, make sure she’s taken care off. Take as much time as you need, not just today.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Bruce didn’t think it would be necessary, a good night’s sleep should be enough, but it was nice to know he had options. He hoped you would be out of the fire soon enough, if only your lawyer would call and say he had a date set. And until then, until Bruce knew you were out of the woods – in all aspects – he would stay on. 

Caputo nodded, taking his glasses off again, seeming to have something more to say. He knew of his foot-in-mouth disease, and treaded carefully. Banner was a kind man, looking out for the little guy as much as he could, and Joe would rather not offend him, or cause more emotional stress that he was already under. 

“Are you... taking any precautions?” he asked after a moment or two.

Bruce furrowed his brows at the question. 

“What do you mean?”

Joe sat up a bit straighter in his chair, moving his glasses mindlessly through his fingers. He was always fidgety when he was uncomfortable, something he had failed to get rid of. Probably why and how Fig knew to play him like a fiddle. 

“I mean, while she’s still under your care, while she’s still under observation down at the medical unit, are you taking any precautions to make sure she can’t do anything to hurt herself again?”

Bruce drew a deep breath, understanding what the man was saying, and why. And he honestly hadn’t thought about it before. Maybe he didn’t want to. Perhaps he didn’t want to think there was a risk of anything happening again. But he couldn’t ignore it when asked. 

“You mean restrain her?” Bruce asked, just to make sure. 

Joe nodded, an apologetic and tight smile working its way to his lips. He too felt the tension of the room. 

“Yes. For her own protection, of course.”

Bruce took another deep breath, letting it out. His shoulders sagged down, and he looked off to the side. 

“No, I... I haven’t,” he admitted. 

He felt a bit ashamed that he thought it would be a good idea to actually do so. He didn’t want to distrust you, but he also didn’t want something to happen to you. You seemed capable enough after all. And he would never forgive himself if he had had the chance to prevent it and not taken it. 

“Perhaps that would be best,” Caputo said, still moving his glasses absentmindedly between his fingers. “Just to be on the safe side. I would hate for anything like this to happen again. And we all know how resourceful these women can be. Prisoners make due with what’s available to ‘em.”

Wasn’t that the truth? Banner had seen many cases of failed DIY craft projects. Some meant for harm, others for simple experiments so see what would happen when putting baking soda and vinegar together. It didn’t take long before the inmates started becoming creative with their works, often stealing whatever they needed, finding it worth the risk of shots just to make time go by. And if someone was desperate, there was no telling just how far they’d go to get what they needed. 

“Yeah,” Bruce finally said. “Maybe it is.” 

Before Bruce had left to go talk with Caputo, he had spent every second available checking labs, running new tests, monitoring your heartrate, blood pressure, sensory reflexes, hooked you up to oxygen and everything else by the book, so he could leave, trusting that you would be okay in his absence. He left no stone unturned, several times over. If the option of the smallest of change in any result was even remotely possible, he checked it again. Safe to say, you were getting the full VIP treatment. 

He hadn’t asked you anything about the event. Not yet. So far, he had only asked about any discomfort, or any pain anywhere, which he already knew wouldn’t be there seeing the amount of morphine still in your system. He had mostly just muttered instructions; follow my finger, squeeze my hand, wiggle your toes, all of which you did. He seemed pretty happy with the results, so he felt comfortable enough to leave you for a moment to go talk with his superior. 

When Bruce came back to his dominium, he went straight to see you. He unlocked the door to your room, finding you exactly where he had left you; in your bed, staring at the ceiling. He cleared his throat to get a response, but you just kept staring at up at the ceiling. Instead of pulling up his swivel chair waiting in the corner, he sat himself down on the side of the other bed next to yours, hands firmly together between his knees. He sighed deeply, giving the silence a moment to help prepare both him and you for the conversation bound to happen. After a while, he found the courage to disturb you. 

“How are you?” he asked softly, watching you watch the ceiling. 

There it was again. That question that everyone kept asking, thinking it was an easy conversation starter. For them it probably was, they weren’t the ones who had to answer it. For you it was a very loaded question. If you answer truthfully, you might make things worse. You might say too much, place too much on their shoulders without meaning to. You might make it all real by saying it out loud, and it was real enough as it were. But if you answer it politely, like you always did, they just kept asking. They never believed the polite answer, but they most likely couldn’t bear the truth. But you were too tired to have them keep asking. 

“Alive.” 

It would have to suffice. It was the truth after all. The short version of it. 

It was a word Bruce hadn’t heard be used as a disappointment, but there was nothing else in your voice. You were alive, and you were disappointed in that. But Bruce still nodded slowly, looking down at the floor so he didn’t blatantly stare at you. 

“And... how does that feel?” 

It sounded strange even to him, but he didn’t really see any other way to get you talking. How does one start a conversation about death, and the eagerness for it?

It felt like it always did. That’s why you had tried to escape it, tried to end it. So you didn’t have to feel like that anymore.

“Painful.” 

Bruce cleared his throat again, growing more and more uncomfortable as the seconds ticked by. He didn’t know how to help, or even what to say. Were you ready to talk more deeply, or did you want to keep it on a one-word basis? He didn’t want to push, but he needed to know. 

“Did you overdose on purpose?” he asked, before quickly adding, “I-I don’t wanna put any blame on you, Har—Jess, it’s just... I was so sure that I gave you the right dosage. But-but, I could have made a mistake, and I’m so—”

“You didn’t make a mistake,” you said, interrupting him in his apology. 

Bruce looked up at you, shocked. 

“I didn’t?” he asked. 

Why did he have to blame himself? Would he have, should you not have come back? Would he feel responsible for your death? He didn’t deserve that. He had been nothing but kind to you, and you had made him think that he killed you. Another failure. Another thing you did wrong. Perhaps that was the silver lining? That you had the chance to tell him that no matter what happens, it wasn’t his fault. It was something at least. 

“No,” you said with a light shake of your head, the nasal cannula moving uncomfortably. “It was me. I did it.” 

Bruce wasn’t quite ready to hear such a confession. He wasn’t sure what to do with it. How does one talk to someone who just admitted that they killed themselves, on purpose? What are the right things to say? 

He knew of your past. He knew what you had been through, some part of it at least. But maybe there was a hundred more times like it? The state of your body, the scars littering your skin told a thousand different stories all on their own. How many did you have to tell that weren’t spelled out? 

“Why did you do it?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him. 

You had already made the choice of saying more than ‘I’m fine’. Could Bruce take hearing more? You didn’t want him to bear the pain, but maybe it would ease his fear. Maybe it would take away the misplaced blame. 

“I felt so much,” you confessed. “I just wanted to feel… nothing.” 

Why people say they feel lighter after a confession of the truth you couldn’t understand. You didn’t feel any lighter. Didn’t feel any less heavy, or troubled by your own thoughts and feelings. Maybe the world was just filled with lies? Maybe there was no place for the truth, or the reality of it. That it wasn’t light, but heavy. That it just adds to the pain. But here’s the truth about the truth; it hurts. So we lie. But you didn’t lie this time. And you just hoped that Bruce could take the pain that came with. 

Bruce seemed uneasy by the answer. You still didn’t look at him, but you could still see him twitching in your peripheral, squirming in his seat. You didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable, but he had asked. 

“You-you didn’t feel like it could be better?” he asked, making sure not to insult you or your feelings. “With time?” 

He didn’t understand. He didn’t know what you felt, probably and hopefully he had never felt the same. At least you hoped so. He deserved to be carefree, painless. 

“Time doesn’t heal anything… It just teaches us to live with the pain. There was just too much. There was just too much…” you said as a tear slowly ran down your cheek. “Time couldn’t keep up.” 

There was just too much. Too much fear, too much pain. Too much of everything. To much emotion, and not enough escape routes. There was no one around to carry some of the burden. No one who cared for you, cared about you or loved you anymore. Your dad was gone, your mom was gone in every way but physical, and your stepfather had thrown you under the bus to keep his own world from falling apart. There was no one. 

And the hurt didn’t stop. Even though Nate was gone, the hurt didn’t stop. There was always someone else there. Officers Rogers and Barnes, Tricia, Pennsatucky, Diaz, and the remaining population of the prison who had yet to stake their claim. And should you get out, there would be someone else there to take over. There was always someone else there to take over. 

And now the world knew. People had seen your pain, and your shame, their opinions about you already made up. Most were probably blaming you, questioning how someone could be so stupid, so weak that they didn’t do anything about it. Most people wouldn’t understand. They knew nothing of your life outside of Nate, before Nate. They knew nothing of the circumstances, just the result. And that was how they judged you. And you were too tired to fight anymore. Too tired to try to explain it to them. Too tired to not take the blame and let it be. 

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said after a while, not knowing what else to say. 

He sat there on the other bed, watching the glistening of tears slowly falling from your eyes. You didn’t sniffle or seem bothered by them, you just kind of let them be. You looked strangely… cathartic. 

“No,” you said, your voice louder than before. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that to you. Make you think that it was your fault, when it wasn’t. I should have done it some other way.”

You hated yourself for making Bruce feel like he was in any way responsible for any of this. This was not on him. You should have found some other way to end it. Found some spark somewhere left inside to keep you going until you could leave medical. But you were just too tired. And too cold. 

“Why’d you do it now? Like this?” 

Bruce mentally scolded himself for not keeping his curiosity under control. Maybe you didn’t want to lie there, answering every intriguing question he had to ask, just so he could get a better picture of the situation and understand. He just wanted to help, but he was being selfish in asking. 

You didn’t blame him for asking. You understood that he wanted answers, needed answers so he knew to trust that it wasn’t his fault. And you would give him whatever he needed. He deserved to not only be blameless, but feel blameless. 

“I guess I didn’t want to die the way I lived,” you said softly. “In pain.”

And there hadn’t been any. There had been warmth, and safety. But now that was gone. And the pain was back. And now you had to live with it. 

Bruce looked away, taking in what you had said. He felt honored that you had enlightened him like you had, and shared something so personal with him. He only wished you had done it sooner. Maybe then he could have really helped you. Now, he feared it was too late. Now he feared you were too far gone. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Jess,” he said, not accepting you apologizing for anything. “I… I don’t know what you have been through, or really how you feel, but… It’s your life. It’s yours to do with as you wish.”

Maybe that was stupid of him to say. He didn’t want to condole you ending your life, but he felt like he didn’t have the right to blame you for the choice. What you thought and felt about your own life was more important than his opinion on it. But he still wanted to give it.

“But for what it’s worth, which might be nothing… I don’t want you to die. I think the world is a better place with you in it.”

What a lovely thing to say. Bruce was always so kind, or at least he meant to be. But the world was not a better place with you in it. The world was not a good place to begin with. It was cruel, and hard, and painful. And it was just too much. 

“The hardest thing in this world… is to live in it,” you said, and finally turned your head to meet his sorrowful gaze with your own. “So please don’t ask me to.”

Bruce felt tears start to well up in his own eyes as he nodded his understanding, and the first one fell before he knew it. He quickly wiped it away with the back of his hand, clearing his throat before the tears shut it completely and left him a gurgling mess. 

You just needed some time. Time to process, time to find your way back on the path you had been walking for so many years. A path of darkness, in the shadow of everyone else. You had done it before, and you could do it again. You could continue to live for everyone else, even if that meant that your were nothing more but a shell. A shadow of a former shadow. A puppet on a string. You could do it. You could. You just needed some time. 

Bruce stood from the bed just as you turned your head back, once again watching the small spots littering the ceiling. He paced around for a bit, drying tears from time to time. You knew he had more he wanted to say, otherwise he would have bolted from the room as soon as possible. 

He went over to the cabinets, grabbing something from the lower ones this time, but you didn’t see what. You didn’t really look to be honest. Maybe it wasn’t meant for your eyes, maybe it would be rude to assume it was okay to ask. So you didn’t. Once Bruce came back to you, standing at the foot of your bed, you once again met his eyes. He looked troubled, pained. Unsure almost. But he cleared his throat, and spoke nonetheless. 

“Seeing as… there is a grave risk of something like this happening again, I have to put you in restrains,” Bruce forced out before he lost his braver. 

He gave you a moment to comprehend what he had said, and what that meant for you. Your eyes flicked down to his hand, seeing something with straps hanging from his grip. 

Restraints. Tied down. Trapped. You were to be tied to the bed, helpless, as the people around did whatever they wished to you and you wouldn’t be able to stop them. A flash of memory, or rather memories, played in your mind, of the times you had been held down by restraints of different kinds. Ropes, zip ties, handcuffs. The latter giving the most helpless feeling, which spread in your chest, pressing down and making your breathing shallow. The once slow beat of the heart monitor, now started speeding up, and beating louder. 

“Trust me, it’s not something I want,” Bruce said, looking ashamed. “I never thought it would come to this but… as long as you’re here, in medical, you will have to be strapped to the bed for your own safety.” 

Bruce started walking up to one side of the bed, looking apologetically down at you, especially since he only just moment ago said your life was yours to do with as you pleased. You were still looking him in the eye, but your own were starting to overflow with both tears and fear. 

“I’m sorry, Jess,” he said softly, and started fastening one end of the strap to the bed. 

Your eyes followed his movements, your ears heard his sorrowful sighs as he tightened the strap. Once he was finished, he held out his hand as an invitation. He wasn’t going to grab you, he wanted you to submit to him. And so you did. 

Your hand had a slight shake to it as you placed your cast clad wrist in his hand. He worked the soft, padded cuff over your fingers, then your hand and up to tighten it at the narrowest part of the cast. It had to be a snug fit, he couldn’t risk you trying to slide it down the cast. 

He steeled himself, and walked over to the other side, while your eyes were still glued to your now bound hand. There were only a few inches give, you couldn’t even reach your thigh, or lay your hand on your belly should you want to. The clattering of the few small metal parts of the strap hitting the bedside rattled you back to the present, and you turned your head just as Bruce finished tightening it, once again awaiting your wrist. 

You tried to give him a pleading look, tears overwhelming your eyes as they searched his, but he just looked down to keep his own shame down. 

“Jess…” he said softly, catching himself at his soft tone

He was the authority, he was calling the shots. If he deemed it safer for you to be restrained, you would be restrained. But no matter the situation, no matter the slight defiance shown, his voice still carried the same softness, his gentle side bleeding though. 

You averted your eyes, submitting once again, and he worked the other soft cuff on just the same, careful to untangle the lines and tubes connected to the catheter. When he moved the sleeve of your hoodie up, he found some new bruises he had yet to see, but didn’t linger on the thought. 

“Does that hurt?” Bruce asked. “Is it too tight?” 

He didn’t want to hurt you. He knew it must be causing you more than a little mental and emotional pain, and he hoped the effects weren’t too bad on you psychologically, so he didn’t need to cause you physical pain on top of that. He remembered your fear when officer Rogers had brought you down after the stabbing, how scared you had been when Steve had mentioned cuffing you to the bed. He could only imagine what was going on inside your head at this moment. 

You eyed the white, soft padding and the beige leather of the strap, following its course from your wrist and down to somewhere on the side of your bed. You couldn’t see where it connected, and you probably weren’t meant to. It didn’t hurt, it wasn’t too tight, but it was still keeping you tied down nonetheless. 

“No…” you mumbled, and gave a short shake of your head. 

Bruce seemed content with that, letting go of your now secured wrist, and took a few steps back. He didn’t want to meet your eyes. He was hurt, ashamed of what he’d had to do. And when you finally had the guts to actually look him in the eye, he couldn’t meet your gaze, which made it all worse. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and stepped back up again. 

“How’s the stich feel? Any irritation?”

He was still in his medic-mode, keeping things clean-cut and formal, only speaking about the medical stuff to avoid getting any feelings involved. He had gotten his answers, and he seemed to not want more. 

You were kind of disappointed in that, to be honest. It had felt good to share. Now, a moment later, you felt a little safer, a little more understood. Not lighter, but safer. But he was pushing that away. He didn’t want to be responsible for your emotional safety it seemed, just the physical one. The one that affected him. So he was back to asking about cuts and bruises. 

“It feels fine,” you said, honestly for the first time, pro of having a ton of morphine circling the system. 

“Good, that’s good,” Bruce said with another nod. “And-and your abdomen? How’s that feel? Any discomfort, any soreness?” 

Again, with more than the lethal dose still being flushed out of your veins, nothing could possibly hurt at this point. Not physically anyway. Well, other than the ever-present itch of the wound healing that seemed to be relentless even on morphine, but besides that small discomfort you felt fine. 

“No, sir.” 

Bruce looked up at you at the use of the honorific, finding your eyes averted again. He thought you were past that phase, past that formality. His heart dropped a little, but he had none other to blame but himself. You had let yourself be vulnerable, tried to let him in when he had asked, and he had pushed you away. So, really, he was the one to blame for you shutting that door on him again. 

“Okay,” he said simply, instead of going into it. “Well, let… let me know if anything changes, okay?”

You nodded slowly, eyes all but glued to the hold of the cuff. 

“Okay,” you said, voice gone softer, weaker again. 

Bruce nodded like a bobblehead, not really knowing what else to say now. He kind of wanted to backtrack, undo the shift in his attituded and voice, and keep on speaking honestly and deeply instead. But he was afraid that if he tried to push for something like that again, he would just make you shut the door even more to protect yourself. So he nodded instead. 

“Okay. I… I’ll be in my office, right across the hall, if you need anything. Just… say my name, and I’ll come running,” he said with an uncertain chuckle, knowing it wouldn’t lift the mood at all. 

But at least you looked up at him, if only for a brief moment before you moved your head back to once again stare at the ceiling. Or maybe more the top of the cabinets across the room, he wasn’t quite sure. 

“Okay,” you said. “Thank you, sir.”

Bruce didn’t even try to come up with something clever or reassuring to say. You seemed to want you privacy, so he gave it to you. He walked back to the door, the pad beeping once his tag was lifted to it, and locked once again behind him. But you weren’t alone for long. Not long enough to really get a breather, or start sorting through your thoughts and feelings (if that was even possible at this point) before the pad beeped again, and officer Rogers walked through the door, just as Bruce’s office door shut. 

The heart monitor had just started to settle, when it once again started increasing its beeping, and the green lines started jumping up and down faster again. You noticed the sign on the door, finding it somewhat ironic, or maybe taunting, like most things in your life; _All inmates must be accompanied by a C.O at all times._ And here he was. One goes out, the other one comes in. 

Your gaze jumped from his face, occasionally meeting his eyes, and trying to read his body language. In his hands he was carrying what looked like a fresh set of clothes, which reminded you… you had nothing but scraps on beneath the hoodie. All he would need to do was unzip it, and you would be bared to him. 

Your hands clenched into fists as they tried to move closer to your body, trying to keep yourself protected and hidden, but that did nothing but tighten the formerly slack straps. The feeling of being ensnared, cornered, grew with the tension of the straps. You swallowed dryly, just waiting, preparing for whatever the officer had in mind. 

But Steve just stood there, just inside the door, looking at you with nothing but sorrow and apprehension in his eyes. His shoulders looked tight, but still sagged down, like he was carrying a terrible burden. His face was lined with worry, his jaw clenched tight as he took in the state of you. 

He wasn’t sure what worried him the most; the nasal cannula, the relentless beeping of a heart monitor, the painful looking cut on your lip or all the lines and tubes connecting you to both fluids and monitors. Or maybe it was the whole package that did it. It wasn’t exactly a pretty picture. There was a new bruise, and old ones still healing from his own hand, as well as Bucky’s. They were almost gone, almost faded, but not quite yet. 

“Hi,” he said in an exhale, forcing his mouth up to something resembling a smile. 

“Hi,” you said lowly, watching him wearingly. 

Steve looked down at the floor for a second or two, needing something just to break the image apart for a moment, before he looked back up at you. 

“Bucky told me what happened,” he started, taking a step closer. “He.. said that you… overdosed? On morphine?” 

Was that all he had said? You doubted he had failed to mention what lay underneath your clothes. The officers seemed to be quick to share information with each other, and you desperately hoped it was just between the two of them, and not the entire staff. 

“Y-yes, sir,” you let out, feeling your jaw start to quiver. 

Steve didn’t seem to notice the constant, quick beat of your heart sounding from the monitor, or maybe he was too lost in his own thoughts to give it any attention, as he took another small step forward. He stopped a few feet away from your bed, looking at the vacant one beside yours for a second, before sitting down with a sigh, placing the clothes absentmindedly beside him. 

“Are you okay?” he asked softly. 

Once again, you were faced with this dilemma. But this wasn’t the kind and caring nurse Banner asking. This was officer Rogers. The same officer Rogers that had teased you, threatened you, probably kicked you, choked you and raped you. All things which he thought went away with him saying that he was sorry. But you were familiar with that kind of sorry. And it never meant it wouldn’t happen again. 

“I…” you started, not knowing what to say, but not answering quick enough was considered disrespectful. 

You swallowed the lump of tears wedging themselves into your throat like they always did around one or both of the officers, and let out a shaky breath. 

“I’ll b-be okay.”

You didn’t believe that though. Not really. Lying there, in bed, strapped down with one of your three rapists in life sitting next to you… You would not be okay. Not really. Could you ever be? But you just had to keep living, keep doing whatever they say. 

Steve’s brows stayed knitted together, the frown reading more sad than annoyed thankfully. 

“If you thought you would be okay,” he started, treading carefully. “Then why’d you do it?” 

You hadn’t expected him to be so crass in his question. He seemed, just like Bruce, to be fishing for the truth, the real truth this time, and not the polite and easy answer so they could simply go on with their day. Steve seemed to want, almost need, answers. Perhaps he needed to see the extent of your damage, see just how badly hurt you were. Perhaps he just wanted to. 

“I used to think I had some control over my life,” you said, watching the cabinets so you didn’t have to see him judging you. “I used to think that, one day, I would be okay. But I… haven’t been okay for years now… and no one ever noticed.” 

You slowly turned your head, steadying and readying yourself to meet his eyes. And when you did, you didn’t see any anger, any disappointment or judgment, or any gloating. He was just listening. He was just listening to you. 

“Sometimes it feels like I’m standing in the middle of a crowded room… screaming at the top of my lungs… and no one even looks up.” 

Would sharing all of this come back to haunt you? Would the officer use it against you, mock you for it once everything went back to normal? Because this wasn’t the normal. This, sitting opposite each other sharing a heartfelt moment, was not the day to day life you knew. This was not the normal in your life. But it might bring it back. And you needed it to come back, needed it to see that you were right. That you were right in thinking that the pain never stopped. You needed it to come back. So… you shared. And Steve listened.

“I try to keep busy to… feel okay. I go over everything I’ve said, or done… try to see if I made a mistake during some point in the day. If I… might be punished for something. I try to prepare myself for that. So I can expect it, be ready for it. Maybe then it will hurt less. I always think it might hurt less if I’m prepared… If I can see it coming. But it always hurts the same.”

Steve didn’t know what to think, what to feel. You were telling him your deepest, darkest secrets, your thoughts and fears like it was some kind of confession. All the other times when he felt his own guilt, his own shame pile on, he had thought that maybe that had been the goal, maybe that had been why you acted a certain way, or said a certain thing; to make him feel bad about what he had done. But this didn’t feel like that. This felt like you were simply letting some things off your chest, grateful to have someone listen. 

Words kept flying out of your mouth like the story you were telling was not your own. Like it was some kind of made-up fairytale filled with love and hope, something one recites over and over to a loved one. Like it wasn’t the cold, hard truth of your life. Like you weren’t just confessing the contents of your heart. 

“There are days when I feel so broken I…” You stopped yourself, not wanting to open that door, instead turning the thought around. “But I just put a smile on my face, and everyone thinks I’m fine. And I say I’m fine… I know I do, but… I never say it doesn’t hurt.” 

Your gaze had drifted to the floor, but you moved your eyes up to meet Steve’s. He was still sitting there, silent, just listening. He didn’t nod. He didn’t move. He just blinked, indicating that he was indeed listening, that he was indeed taking your words to heart. 

For a moment, just a quick moment, it wasn’t Steve sitting there. It was Nate. Just for a flashing moment, he was there. Sitting right there next to you, the hint of a smile barely there, the familiar glint in his eyes. He was as beautiful as ever. He always was. When he wasn’t angry or malicious, he was beautiful. It was almost comforting to have him there. And it was a good reminder. Because just as soon as he appeared, he was gone. 

“I know he’s dead,” you said, figuring Steve knew who you were talking about. “I know he’s not coming back, I know he can’t hurt me again, but… some days, the pain… is worse than the day it happened.”

Your eyes drifted again, loosing their focus. Steve didn’t know what pain you were recalling just saying that, but it was something. Because your face tensed with lines of worry, tears left their confinement and your jaw quivered even more than before. Whatever it was, it hurt. And it was evident in the tremor of your voice. 

“And I can’t stop reliving it, I can’t make it stop, I just wanted to make it stop…”

You looked up at Steve pleadingly, not knowing what you were asking for. Maybe it was just to be grounded in the present, maybe it was for him to just end the pain. 

“But it won’t stop,” you whispered. “It doesn’t stop. And there is always someone else there to add to the pain. There’s always someone there to—” 

You bit it back. You felt it bubbling up inside; panic. Not only fear, because fear was always there, but sheer and utter panic. A few more tears fell as you let the breath be taken out of you and shake your body as the current of pain coursed through you. There was just too much. Too much pain, too much truth. 

“It doesn’t stop…” you whispered. “I… needed it to stop.” 

You looked away again, moving your head back comfortably on the pillow, allowing the officer to process what you had said, what you had told him. What you had shared. 

Whatever was going through Steve’s mind, you didn’t know. Nor did you care right now. You were too bust reliving every horrendous moment of your life like a slideshow, like a review of a slasher horror movie, all blood and gore and pain. It was an endless rollercoaster, like it always was. If you didn’t have a distraction, or enough to sort through in your mind, the joyride commenced like clockwork. And right now, strapped to a bed in a corner of a prison, without company, without a daily routine and the aftermath of death, it was the only constant you could trust to never leave you. 

Steve too was going through a slideshow of his own, a mixture of the once friendly and jokingly times spent with Millers, the easiness of his past, mixed with the memories of everything he and Bucky had done to you, the crescendo being that late night in the laundry room. Everything leading up to it, every small encounter where both of them had taken the opportunity to scare you, threaten you or make suggestive remarks just to watch you shudder with fear. He remembered it all, ashamed of it all. And now, sitting here with you, he had the final result of all of their doings. Their choices had led to this, had led to you trying to kill yourself. 

They had done nothing but pile it on, that mountain of pain you were already surviving had grown substantially under their care, and they had calculated it that way. They had both seen how spooked you were when you first came to Litchfield, they had both seen the fear in your eyes whenever you spotted them watching you. And you had just been trying to survive. 

“God…” Steve said under his breath, not even realizing he had said anything at all. 

You turned your head a bit, just to see him a bit better. He wasn’t looking at you, he was looking down at the floor, lost in whatever he was thinking. Your jaw trembled as you forced yourself to speak again. 

“I’m s-sorry, sir.” 

That got Steve’s attention. His eyes shot up, meeting yours for just a second before you caught yourself and lowered your gaze. 

“What?” he said, a bit harsher than he had meant to. 

“I… I’m s-sorry, sir,” you said again, hoping he wouldn’t be too mad. 

But Steve wasn’t mad, at least not at you. He was mad at himself, at Bucky, Millers, the police, the court. He was mad at everyone who had had a hand in your life leading up to this. He wanted someone to be responsible, someone he could blame that wasn’t himself. But it was hard to find anyone. 

“No,” Steve said, his tone softer again. “I’m sorry, I… I had no right to do that to you. To hurt you like I did. Neither did Bucky. We’re the ones who should be sorry, Jess, not you.” 

It felt strange to have a conversation about blame for death. Or, in reality, it was the blame for breaking you apart, shattering you, more than it was the cause of your suicide. And Steve knew he was not alone in that, that he was not the only one to blame, but he was the latest one. Not counting the attack by the other inmates, which he kind of unwittingly orchestrated, he and Bucky were the ones who hurt you to such an exaggerated extent. What they had done to you that night, was more than enough to break you. 

Again, the apology. You had heard it before, knew what it meant. Maybe, just maybe it had some of its primary meaning even in this regard, but mostly, it was just a smokescreen. A ruse. A game of tag played with pain. Slowly putting the rug back underneath your feet, only to pull it away when they felt like it.

“We’re not gonna hurt you, Jess,” Steve said when met with silence. “We’re… It’s not gonna happen again.” 

You wanted to say something, anything, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say the things you wanted. And before you even got the chance, the small beep of the pad by the door sounded, and in walked Bruce again. 

Steve whipped his head around, standing from the bed to greet the nurse. He wiped his palms over the front of his trousers to get rid of the sweat which had started to form. 

“Officer Rogers,” Bruce said with a small smile. 

Steve nodded shortly. “Banner.” 

You looked between the two men. There didn’t seem to be any tension there, which you were glad for. But it made you uneasy nonetheless to have the room be so crowded. If you could call three people crowded. 

“I, I was just coming to check on Harper,” Bruce said with a quick point towards your bed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” 

Bruce let out a small and nervous scoff, unsure of his place. The tension between you and the officer seemed heavy, the energy in the room tight and palpable. 

Steve smiled at the nurse, letting out a small sigh. 

“No, that’s okay,” he said. “We— I just came down with some fresh clothes for Harper. Barnes told me what happened, and… Well, thought I’d spare him the trip.” 

“Oh, were you coming this way?” Bruce asked, thinking Barnes was going to be the one to bring everything down. 

Steve sure was coming this way. He was coming to medical to check on you, whether Bucky had planned to do the same or not, which he of course had but Steve had beat him to it. He was busy writing up a report on the incident, currently talking with Caputo. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Thought I might as well bring it down with me.” 

Steve grabbed the clothes from their forgotten place on the bed, and walked over to yours to leave them on your bedside. And when he did, he notice the restraints. He looked down at them, taken a bit off guard, then looked up to your face. There was nothing but fear, right under the surface of controlled calm, as your breathing started picking up. 

Steve turned his head to Bruce, a bit accusingly, a bit inquisitive. 

“She’s restrained?” 

Bruce sighed as he placed his hands in his pockets. 

“Yeah,” he said defeatedly. “Caputo thought it was the safest bet while she’s down here. He didn’t wanna take any chances.” 

Steve nodded, looking back down at the cuff, relieved to find it padded at least. He looked up at your face, seeing the fear mixing with the qualm. Your eyes were jumping to his from time to time, but mostly they stayed glued to the cabinets across the room.

“Actually,” Bruce said, before Steve even got the chance. “Psych needs me for a consult. I just wanted to check in on her before I left, but… Everything seems to be okay, so…” 

You looked over at Bruce. He seemed to want some kind of answer from you, so you nodded your head a little. It seemed to be enough, and you were glad you didn’t have to speak. You doubted that your voice would be anything but a tremble. 

“I should go,” he said, giving both you and the officer a quick smile. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, before Bruce even got the chance to turn to the door. “I should be heading back too, I just wanted to leave some clothes. Is it okay if I release her and you can just put the cuffs back on when you get back?” 

Steve really wanted to give you a bit of a break, you seemed to need it. Maybe Banner didn’t know about the emotional pain you must be in, just having those things on, but Steve understood. After all, he had been there the last time you were cuffed, held down against your will. And he was really tired of being the bad guy. But Bruce’s smile turned into a saddened frown. 

“She’s…” he cleared his throat. “She’s not allowed to be left alone, unsupervised unless she’s…” 

“Tied down,” Steve finished when Bruce seemed to fail. 

Bruce nodded, meeting Steve’s questioning raise of a brow. Steve just sighed and nodded. 

“Okay,” he said, giving Bruce a small and tight smile, sending him on his way. 

Once you two were alone, Steve looked between the pile of clothes and you. Your body had a slight tremble to it, your breathing was shallow and quick, and your heartbeat seemed to match it if the monitor was anything to go by. 

Steve didn’t say anything as he walked up to where your hand lay and started undoing the cuff. He felt you hold back a flinch every time his fingers grazed your skin, but he didn’t comment. He slid the cuff down your hand, and walked over to the other side and did the same there. 

The entire time you watched his fingers work, you prepared yourself for a bruising grip to come, for him to simply grab you and break your other wrist just to make things even. Just because he could. But he never did. 

Once you were out of the cuffs, Steve walked over to the wall facing the hallway, and pulled down the blinds on each window. The blinds were on the outside of course, lest risk any admitted inmate trying to hurt themselves.

“I’ll stay over here,” he said, staying on the other side of the room. 

He planted his feet shoulder width apart, crossing his arms over his chest. He kept his head facing forward, facing the windows, and due to the blinds being on the other side, there was a reflection showing the room behind him. It was as much privacy as he could give you. 

You looked from the officer, to the clothes. He was a good few feet away, but he was still in the room with you, he could still hurt you if he wanted to. And he would even have som privacy doing so with the blinds down. But it was your window of opportunity. It would have to suffice. You weren’t left with much of a choice really. 

You removed the sticky patches keeping you hooked to the heart monitor and let them hang as a hushed flatline sounded in the room. You unhooked the lines from the catheter on the top of your hand, knowing more than well how to do it, and how to shut it. You let them rest on the bed, and you went to stand on the other side with your back to Steve, keeping the bed between you both. Bringing the new clothes closer to you, you looked back again, but he hadn’t moved. So you slowly unzipped your hoodie. 

You told yourself over and over not to panic, that it wasn’t a dangerous situation. But it certainly didn’t feel like you were telling yourself the truth. It felt like you were lying, and gravely so. But nonetheless, the zipper met the end and unhooked. You let out a small, quivering gasp as it did so, before steeling yourself and let it fall from your shoulders, taking the scraps of fabric underneath with it, leaving your torso bared. 

Steve only glanced up at the reflection from time to time, not wanting you to feel him staring. But once the hoodie fell to the floor, and the ripped shirt and bra with it, he was met with a view he was not ready for. Even through a distorted reflection of a window glass he could see the mix of bold, thin and thick lines, along with smaller knicks here and there. Some looked like they had been cut expertly with a knife, others like a flick of a whip had ripped the skin off your bones. And he could make out what looked like bruises, at least that’s what he assumed they were, on the back of your hips and shoulder. And he knew just how they got there. 

He averted his eyes again, moving his head so that he could just see your body in his line of vision, but nothing more. He didn’t need to see the proof of his failure, his lack of judgement. So he let you dress, which you did in haste, quickly covering yourself with as many layers as possible. 

It felt like it went on for hours. Like any chance the clothes got to get hung up or catch on anything, they did, just to keep you naked and scared. You pulled the bra on, it was a tight fit, but it was better than not having one on at all. The shirt was looser, comfortably hanging lower on your hips. And the hoodie was the crème on top, finally making you feel safe and secured again once the zipper met your chin. 

You took a deep breath, composing yourself, before turning around and facing Steve’s back. You picked up the clothes from where they had fallen on the floor, holding them in your arms like a lifeline. Your mind desperately wanted to go back to when you find your clothes torn, with officer Barnes being the one to cover you again after having seen all of that, but you willed it not to. This situation was bad enough as it was. 

“O-okay,” you said, or maybe whispered, to tell Steve it was okay to turn back around, like it was you who was calling the shots.

He did, turning his head first to make sure it was alright. He saw the pile of clothes in your arms, and walked up to you with careful steps. With his arms out as an invitation, he waited for you to hand him the old clothes, not rushing you in any way. He kept his movements slow and calm as to not startle you more than necessary. 

Your eyes shot up to his for a quick second, before you handed him the torn material like it was a carefully wrapped gift. Even though you wanted the exchange to be over quickly, you didn’t want to risk accidentally touching his body. The memory of it was enough. 

“T-thank you, sir,” you said, letting go. 

“No problem,” Steve said, giving you a warm and kind smile, turning on his heel. 

He went over to the other bed to lay the clothes down, hearing you climb back into bed behind his back. Once he turned around, you were tucked in under the blanket, leaving it just above your hips, busy putting all the sticky patched back on your chest and replacing the flatline with a rapid heartbeat instead. Steve looked away for a moment, moving his hair back into place should it need it, giving you some privacy. But not before he could see the outlines of another scar on your right shoulder. He saw you move your arm down, and turned back to you once you were finished. 

He was just about to grab both the cuff and your wrist, when you surprised him by offering him both. He looked up at you, perplexed, but hid it under a smile. But you didn’t see it, you were too busy watching the cabinets, or the wall, or anything other than Steve as he tightened the cuff around your wrist. When he went to move to the other side, thinking you would lie there like a statue, he was almost startled when he saw you move. 

You noticed, and quickly stopped. 

“I… T-the line… I w-was just gonna reattach it, s-sir.” 

Steve gave an almost shamed sigh, nodding to you. 

“Of course, you were,” he said. “Go ahead.”

You made quick work of it despite your hand not having that much movement, making sure both lines were secured before letting your cuffed hand fall back down to the matrass. You looked back at Steve, but he was just patiently waiting for you to finish what you were doing. He already had the strap and cuff in hand, all he needed was you hand. 

He didn’t miss the way it trembled as you placed it in his grip, your fingers flinching when they met his warm palm. He worked the soft padding over your fingers and cast, tightening it at the narrowest part again. 

It was a calm moment, speaking wise at least. Steve felt a little more at ease than you of course. He was the one in control after all, like he always was when it came to your interactions. 

There was never a moment when someone else didn’t have control over you, in some way. Even before, your life had been like a prison, so it was safe to say that you’d had some practice even before coming to Litchfield. There were always rules to follow, people to listen to and respect, and if you didn’t? You were punished. It was quite simple really. Once you had accepted it. 

It had been a heartbreaking moment when you had realized that truth; that you were no longer in control of your life. That whatever you thought, or felt or wanted didn’t matter. It was no longer up to you. You were no longer in control. And when you had tried to be, tried to take that control back… you had been punished with life. 

How’s that for karma?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, god, this chapter just did NOT want to be finished! 
> 
> No matter what I did, it just grew, and twisted and turned, until I FINALLY found a way to end it! Hope you liked it anyway :) 
> 
> Please leave me comment down below, I love talking to you guys! <3


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky try to have a relaxing night out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Drinking, swearing, arguments, homophobia, mental health problems.

You waited. And waited. Then you waited some more, but officer Barnes didn’t show like Bruce thought he might. Maybe he had no business coming down to medical again since Steve had been so kind as to bring you some new clothes, perhaps he indeed had no other reason for a visit. But if he was going to come down, you wanted to be prepared. 

What should you prepare for? Another ‘heartfelt’ moment shared between you and one of the assaulting officers? Another baiting into… whatever it was they were after? Or perhaps anger? Disappointment? How involved had Bucky been in your revival? You knew he was there when you woke up, you had heard him even before you saw him, but that didn’t necessarily mean that he was there for the whole ordeal. But he had been there long enough to see…

Would it spark his interest? Would it bring out the worst in him too, perhaps igniting his own desire to mark your body up even more? If he could find a space. Nate had been pretty thorough. You had traced lines between the scars like you were connecting the dots many times, guessing how they would heal, or where the next one would be. You had tried to prepare yourself for that too, expect the pain to come, and in what way it would come, but it never worked.

Nate had been resourceful in his work, rarely using the same MO more than a handful of times, and there were more than a handful of scars embellishing your body, so… safe to say, he had tried his hand at many things. Would the officers feel as inspired as he had, just from seeing the finished result? Steve hadn’t seemed too enamored whenever he had seen parts of the _masterpiece_ , and Bucky had been quick to cover you up when you woke up finding your body exposed. But perhaps that was just an act. Another part they needed to play to keep you in the dark. 

The longer you waited, the harder it was to keep the panic down. Your body was tense all over, your muscles aching from the strain but you couldn’t relax. Even lying down, in an empty room nonetheless, didn’t aid in the endeavor to not let fear get the better of you. It didn’t outweigh the restraints. It didn’t outweigh the fear. 

They pulled tight the more you tried to pull away from them. All you wanted was to find a way to comfort yourself, self-sooth in some way, but you couldn’t even reach your own body. Well, you could if you moved your legs up, but that felt like a clear invitation should anyone see, even under the blanket, and you were not about to welcome another living soul into your body. So, you waited. And tried not to panic. 

Hours passed with no one visiting you but the distant Bruce Banner coming in to check on you every now and again. He seemed to run solely on medic-mode, keeping things strictly medical and proper without any inquiring questions about your mental wellbeing. It was all about the cuts and bruises, nothing about your death, or sanity. Except for this time. This visit – the last visit before he went home for the evening – he seemed to offer the help more for your emotional state rather than your physical one. 

“Do you need anything to sleep on?” he asked after his third examination of all tubes and cords connected to your body. “You seem to have trouble relaxing.” 

Bruce felt his eyes burn into the cuffs on your wrists, before catching himself and looking up at you with an apologetic smile. He didn’t miss the way your body had been tense since the moment he had put those on, your face contorting more and more into fear as time went by. If only he knew what was going on inside your head…

Restrained _and_ sedated? Didn’t exactly sound like a joyous ride, at least not in your book. In your book, any state of unconsciousness could mean harm done without your knowledge, or being awoken by the sharp claws of pain and agony, none of which was to prefer. But you felt the panic start to simmer to the surface, slowly reaching higher and higher. Could you take that, mentally? To lose it, to have an episode while being tied up, held down by people once they would hear you, to then have drugs pumped into your system without your consent? No matter the choice, you would end up at the mercy of others without a conscious thought as to what was going on. But if you gave into it right away, perhaps there would be no pain brought on by yourself and your behavior. And it might just help keep the panic at bay. 

“I… Could I just h-have a little, please, sir?” 

You didn’t look up at him, that didn’t seem appropriate anymore. He had made it quite clear that he wanted nothing more to do with your problems, unless they were medical, meaning it was his job to care and deal with it. The meek little mouse was back, keeping to the back as always. 

“Sure, yes, of course,” Bruce rambled, walking over to the cabinets across the room. 

Everything seemed to be kept there. No wonder you were kept tied down with already one suicide on your record. Imagine what damage you could do not only to yourself but to others by what lay behind those locked doors. You tried not to think about it, think about the escape so close, yet so far away, or why it was so far away. The restraints felt heavier and heavier by the minute the more you had to fight to keep the thoughts oppressed. 

Bruce talked you through the dosage, and how it was administrated, pointing out that he was giving you about half of what he would normally give a patient to help them sleep. He made no mention of the fact that the morphine still left in your system would boost the effect, hence wanting to only administer a small amount, even if you didn’t ask for it. He watched you visibly relax at the knowledge, but the fear was still very much present as you watched the clear fluid mix with the one already in the line, slowly creeping closer before disappearing under your skin. 

“There we are,” Bruce said with a s soft smile. “You’ll feel a bit drowsy in a minute or so.” 

“T-thank you, sir,” you said meekly as Bruce withdrew the syringe. 

“You’re welcome, Harper.” 

Bruce threw the things away in the waste container, and made sure he locked all the cabinets he had been in before coming back to your bedside. He let a hand rest on the railing, his other finding its home in his pocket per usual. 

“I’ll be going for the evening,” he said, watching your eyes jump up to his from time to time to indicate that you were listening. “I’ve told the night nurse that she doesn’t need to check the wound on your abdomen, or disturb you if you in fact do manage to sleep… But I have asked her to keep a close eye on you, so she will be here a bit more frequently than before. I hope that’s alright with you?” 

Bruce knew he didn’t need to ask. And even if you were to argue, which he though was unlikely, he would still ask the nurse to check on you just as often. He was afraid that he had missed something vital, or made a mistake that would end up costing you, in one way or another, and he just couldn’t risk that. He wanted to help you, and he wanted to make sure that you were okay, at least from any mistake made by him. Any other case, the restraints should prevent. 

You were aware of this too. You doubted that it would make any difference whatever you said, but you still felt somewhat relieved to be asked and considered. Bruce seemed like he was trying. Perhaps he couldn’t act the way he wanted due to some other reason besides his own personal feelings? Perhaps there was a doctor-patient-relationship protocol he could not overstep, and caring more than he should might do just that. 

“Yes, sir,” you said, voice surprisingly stable. “Thank you.” 

Bruce smiled, the warmth of it a bit more genuine than before which was a comforting sight. 

“Good,” he said. “Now get some rest, and I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

“Goodnight, Jess.” 

“Goodnight, sir.” 

It still felt safer to call him ‘sir’. You would never call him by his first name, not unless he specified in which case it would be ruder to disobey, but there was the option of not saying anything at all, and simply say ‘goodnight’. But you weren’t there. You had almost been, but not anymore. So you held onto your manners. 

Bruce left, giving you one last smile before the door closed behind him, locking in place. You were relieved to be alone, for real this time. There was no more awaiting any visitors, or fearing any deep conversations you’d rather not have. The officers had left for the day by now, so if they hadn’t come down yet, they weren’t going to at all. And whoever the officer working the nightshift was, they would only peek through the window to make sure you were still accounted for. So really it was just the nurse, and she had been quiet as a mouse in her previous visits, and this night would probably be no different since Bruce had explicitly asked her not to bother you. So it was just you, alone. 

That should be comforting. It was in a lot of ways, and in some, not so much. Being alone meant no distractions from the tumultuous merry-go-round of thoughts always spinning inside your head. Nothing to break the silent screams, the loud silence and suffocation void trying to break your mind apart. At least having people around to worry about replaced the horrible loudness of your thoughts. It gave you something to focus on, something to block out the ever-present fear and pain. 

But now, you just had to hold on. For just a minute, then the sedative would kick in and lull you to the comforts of sleep, letting you forget the hardship and troubles in the real world; the unforgiving grip of the padded cuffs, the immobility they upheld even when you didn’t try to fight them, and the slowly rising pain _everywhere_ as the morphine was steadily leaving your body. 

You hoped it would feel like dying. You wanted that comforting embrace to hold you again, and take away any pain left in the world. You couldn’t remember how it really felt, it was such a fleeting feeling, but you _had_ felt it. Once. You had felt the warmth and the calm, before everything just seized to exist. Everything seized to be. You seized to be. 

Falling asleep didn’t feel like that at all though. It wasn’t uncomfortable, or unpleasant, but it didn’t take away any fear. It just opened the door to another kind of fear. The kind that always lived in your subconscious. The one you had escaped out in the real world, but never stopped from haunting your dreams. It was always there. He was always there. 

O.o.O.o.O

Bucky and Steve both tried to keep busy for the rest of the day, the weight of your words weighing heavily on them. They tried to keep their idle minds working and focusing on anything that didn’t involve guilt, shame, their own self-loathing or you, which was easier said than done. They had revolved around the prison, worked at every post and patrolled every corridor and piece of grounds that was available to them, hoping it would be enough to not let their minds wander back to what they tried so hard to keep down. But it still did. 

Both were currently patrolling the yard, walking around the perimeter and keeping an eye on the few inmates outside in the frisk weather. They had finished their third coffee for the afternoon, which they could both feel in their increased heartbeats, but at least they had a physical reason to blame that on now. Before they just had to accept their heartache, now they had something to blame that wasn’t them, or the weight of the truth. 

They kept a close eye out for any discrepancies or infractions of any kind regarding the inmates, but their conversation was solely private.

“We didn’t listen,” Bucky muttered angerly under his breath. 

He had entered the highway of regret and guilt, speeding down the road like a fool blind. The puzzle pieces were falling into place, the picture was emerging before his very eyes the more he learned about your past, as well as your present. What Steve had shared with him, telling him what you had confessed, was horrific in more than one way. That paired with what they had both seen littering your body, was like someone had thrown a hand grenade into their tight little living space and shut the door. 

Steve blew a puff of air out loudly, bowing his head down as Bucky went on. 

“She tried to tell us, she tried to… And we didn’t fuckin’ listen. What the fuck is wrong with us, huh? Like seriously, Steve? We are not—” Bucky stopped himself short, looking around before speaking in a lower voice. “We are not rapists.” 

Both men stopped in their tracks in a far corner of the yard, partially hidden behind a toolshed. They looked around and made sure to keep their voices hushed. 

“Well, we are now, though, aren’t we?” Steve said, not really wanting to, but the truth must be heard. 

Bucky clenched his jaw and looked away, not wanting to hear more of the truth than he already had. But he had no right to hide away from it. 

“Yeah…”

“Okay?” Steve went on without Bucky looking at him. “I know, we have never been the types of guys who would ever rape a woman, we have saved women from men trying to rape them. That’s who we are. Or… were.” 

“Yeah, exactly, Steve,” Bucky chimed in before Steve could continue his rant, facing his friend as well as the facts. “ _Were_ being the operative word. We weren’t abusive fucking assholes before, but that ship has fuckin’ sailed! Control or domination is not the same as rape!”

“Keep your voice down,” Steve scolded, looking around to make sure no inmates had started drifting closer. 

Bucky rolled his eyes and bit back a more than unfriendly remark, instead keeping on track with the issue. 

“I just can’t fucking believe that neither one of us, especially you, couldn’t see how damaged she was to begin with. It fuckin’ blows my mind.” 

That did not sit well with Steve. Through it all they had been side by side, partners in crime (literally) and, sure, they let off some steam by arguing with one another since that was the only other person they could talk to about this whole ordeal, but to be pointedly blamed like that was something else. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Bucky met Steve’s eyes, finding not only anger, but a bit of hurt hiding there as well. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. 

“I just… I mean, you’re the sensible one. You’re the captain and shit, you’re supposed to be better at this sort of thing.”

“What thing? Reading people’s minds? Knowing if someone has been beaten and raped for God knows how many years? What exactly am I supposed to be better at, Bucky?” 

Steve fought hard to keep his voice down, but his anger read true despite his lower tone. He waited for an answer, but he figured Bucky was trying to find a suitable response to his own radical allegation. Bucky took a breath. 

“I just mean that I am a bit more rash than you are,” he said tensely. 

“Oh, really? And here I thought that you were the one to pull _me_ from fucking alleyways for fighting someone twice my size. I got into more fights in one year than you could count because I _was so rash_. Those are your words, Buck, not mine. So don’t put this on me. You are just as much to blame for what happened with Jess as I am.” 

A moment of silence ticked by, but it wasn’t filled with any sort of comfort. Bucky felt even more shame for blaming his friend, and Steve was still somewhat fuming inside. Bucky had no right to blame him for what happened. It had been a conscious decision on both parts. 

“At least I didn’t break her frickin’ wrist,” Steve blurted out without realizing it. 

Bucky looked at Steve’s now turned head as he tried to compose himself, completely taken aback by Steve’s words. 

“What?” 

Steve realized what he had said. He had kept it to himself so he didn’t put more blame or more guilt on Bucky’s conscious, and he hadn’t meant to say it now as any form of retaliation. He sighed, not finding his words, so Bucky kept talking to fill the void. 

“I broke her wrist?” he asked, to which he received a nod in affirmative. 

Bucky looked away for a moment, the anger gone and replaced by blame and dejection. He had almost forgotten the question of which one of them had injured you so badly, and that only added to his fault. He shouldn’t have forgotten. He shouldn’t have fled the possible blame. Well, it wasn’t just possible blame anymore. 

“How’d you know?” he asked. 

Steve looked back from having been observing some inmates further down the field, giving Bucky a moment to take it in. 

“I asked her,” he said. “That night when we apologized. I asked, and she said it was you. I don’t know how or when during…” he cleared his throat, uncomfortable to be the bearer of such news, or mention any part of that night. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to spring that on you like that. It was an accident, I know you didn’t mean it, Buck.”

"Yeah, but she doesn’t, does she?” Bucky countered. “For all she knows, I meant to do it, right?”

Steve looked away for a moment before meeting the heaviness of Bucky’s gaze again. He was hurt, of course he was, and their disagreement before didn’t exactly help. 

“Suppose so,” he said. “But look, I don’t think that’s the part she really cares about. I don’t think a broken wrist is what tipped her over the edge, you know?” 

Bucky nodded, understanding what Steve was trying to say. But bringing up the sexual part of the assault didn’t do anything to lift his spirits. 

“Yeah, and I was the first one to rape her, too, so… Guess I’m the bad guy here.” 

Steve watched as Bucky dug himself deeper in his guilt and regret, always being the one to fall on the sword, even when it wasn’t necessary. 

“No,” Steve said firmly. “We are both equally to blame for everything that happened. It doesn’t matter who… _got there_ first, okay? If anything, I’m to blame. I’m the one who put my hand down her fuckin’ pants before you ever did anything, so… Had you pissed off doin’ that, too, so… don’t blame yourself.” 

It wasn’t the right time or space to do so, but the weight of everything else was just a bit too much at the moment. He needed something to refocus his attention. Bucky knew it was inappropriate, but he couldn’t hold back the chuckle at Steve’s chosen words.

“Pissed being the operative word there, pal.”

And Steve was no better, letting the ambiguity of the word get the better of him too. Basically, any reason to laugh instead of argue was an easy choice, and one neither usually passed up. They were both aware that it was more than a little inappropriate, but the memory brought back laughter and feelings of adrenaline, as it had both leading up to it, and right after it happened. 

“God, that place reeked,” Steve grunted, fighting the smile and the scowl at the same time as he remembered the day in the cell. “Jesus.” 

Bucky just let out another chuckle, kind of proud, kind of grossed out. 

“What can I say? I have a high testosterone level.” 

He didn’t even try to hide his smirk with that remark. It was meant as somewhat of a dig, but not completely. It was more his way of explaining the… pungent odor. 

Steve just gave him a disbelieving scowl, hearing more of the dig and less of the explanation. Bucky raised a quick hand in his defense. 

"Not that you don’t! I’m sure you could stink up the place just as much as I did, Stevie. You just chose to direct your _manliness_ on something else, is all.”

“Yeah,” Steve as a matter-of-factly. “On a girl. You chose to piss on a bed instead of getting a handful of pussy, and that was your call, my friend. If you’d rather empty your bladder than get to touch a soft, oh, so soft, velvety pussy…” Steve closed his eyes and groaned dreamily just to rub it in. “Then that’s on you, my friend.” 

He intentionally reused his previous words to describe your body, knowing what a state Bucky had been in when he first told it to him. He had been so jealous. And it had the almost same effect this time, too. He ignored the tug of guilt from speaking about you in such a crude way. He told himself he could be talking about anyone, it didn’t have to be you. But it was. 

“You’re an asshole, you know that, right?” Bucky said and smacked Steve across the head. “You said you were gonna search her and cop a feel, not stick your hand down her fuckin’ pants and grab her pussy like that. You! _You_ are the bad guy here, not me! And a bad friend at that.” 

Steve just laughed at Bucky’s teasing anger, enjoying the lightness that had come of the moment which was only minutes ago a raging war of blame. This joyous banter was their forte, albeit a little crass and bawdy, but right now they didn’t care. It was just two guys talking about a conquest, nothing more. It was the thrill of the chase, the rush of power that had come with the moment that they relished in. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Steve muttered through his smile as they started heading back towards the main building. “Let’s go to the bar tonight. I’ll buy ya a drink and apologize for staining our friendship with my bad, bad _overly_ friendliness.”

"Why, thank you,” Bucky said, even nodding his head down in a mock bow at the offer. “And unless I find a pussy to grab, I’m pissin’ on your bed tonight, and that’s a promise.”

Both men fell into a laughing fit, jokingly making jabs at each other on their way across the fields, making sure to watch their words as they approached population. 

They both felt good to be back to joking about this sort of stuff, to enjoy the thoughts and now memories, instead of worrying and be burdened by them. They removed you from the equation (at least to their best ability), and focused on the simple aspects of it all instead. The physical, the rush, the power.

They could both admit that the planning and everything leading up to the big day had been incredibly entertaining and jaunty, and they both enjoyed having some of that lightness back. Yes, they felt bad about having done it in such a way, that they had taken advantage of someone so hurt, but they were slowly starting to come to the conclusion that they weren’t really feeling that bad that it had in fact happened. Good experience, bad execution.

If they could take away the suffering of it all, they would. They would even take away their manipulative game to turn all the other inmates against you. Maybe then you wouldn’t be so broken, so alone. But the moments in between… The touches, the inuendoes, the punishments for behavior they didn’t see fit, had still been enjoyable. The flash of fear, the tone of respect whenever you spoke to them, your submission to their mere presence; that had been the true rush. A quite an addictive one at that. 

. 

Once they had gotten home, they fit in a quick workout and a shorter run before showering and getting ready for a night at the bar. It had been a while, and both men really needed some time away from the prison and the house. Bucky didn’t actually intend on finding anyone to hook up with for the night, but he still wanted to look good should luck be on his side. 

He made sure he was cleanshaven and smelling good, a dash of oaky cologne setting the tone nicely. He opted for a sleek grey shirt with a few buttons at the top (which he left open, of course) that fit snuggly enough to show off his body. A pair of dark jeans held up by a black belt, paired with dark boots and a black leather jacket to finish everything off. He let his hair hang loose, simply raking his fingers through it to push it back a bit, but other than that he let it do its own thing. Safe to say; he looked good. 

Steve was no different, only he went with a simple but tight white tee under his blue bomber jacket which really showed off his build; broadening his shoulders even more, and narrowing his waist to barely anything. He paired that with a darker pair of jeans and a brown belt to match his brown boots. He had done his hair, just enough so it still looked effortless, and was freshly shaved as well, liking the clean-cut of it, and of course used his very best cologne which he rarely used, smelling earthy yet fresh. Simple, smooth and just as good looking. 

Of course, they chose to take the bikes. If they did in fact get lucky, driving someone home on a motorcycle usually sealed the deal, so to speak. Most women found them edgy and sexy, and the bikes weren’t bad either. There was just something about the danger of being on a motorcycle that got women all riled up. And the intimacy of holding on as the boys revved the engine didn’t hurt either. 

They parked just in front of the bar at the few parking spaces left available. The sound of a live band playing was heard behind the closed doors, even over the roars of their engines before they killed them and dismounted. The atmosphere seemed relaxed yet buzzing as they walked into the dimly lit room, not yet overcrowded with people. 

There was indeed a four-man band playing on the small stage, and more than a few couples sitting at the table in the crowd. There seemed to be some single girls in tonight, most of which were seated in a booth further in the room, either in pairs or slightly bigger groups. As well as some bachelors by the look of the bar counter, so they weren’t alone, which they were both glad for. Being the only single men in a bar filled with single women wasn’t exactly their idea of a relaxing night, at least not tonight.

They sat down at the corner edge of the counter, nodding to the bartender who acknowledged their presence with a nod once he spotted them. He was busy filling up a drink to another customer, but walked over once he was done. He was a heavy-set man, balding with a little bit of scruff, which he made look more inviting than anything else. 

“What can I get you, gentlemen?” he asked with a kind tone, throwing the towel he held over his shoulder.

“Uh, I’ll keep it light, so I’ll just have a beer,” Bucky said, to which the bartender nodded.

“Make it two,” Steve said.

“Two beers, coming right up,” the man said and turned to grab them two cold ones.

“Thanks,” Steve said, looking around the room as they waited for their drinks.

The band wasn’t too bad actually. They were playing a sort of soft, almost jazzy tune which really fit with the ambiance of the place. It wasn’t too loud or rowdy, just the perfect volume to make the place warm and appealing, allowing people to carry normal conversations without shouting.

“Here you go,” the bartender said as he placed two cold bottles of beer on a coaster each on the counter.

“Thank you,” they both said in union, raising their bottles and taking the first swig. 

A few bottles in, and they were actually starting to feel a bit more relaxed and at ease. The place was a bit more crowded but not overly so, and the band continued to play their upbeat music. People were starting to become more than a little tipsy around them, and a few had already departed with hands roaming all over each other’s bodies, talking in hushed voices like no one could understand what they could possibly be running off to do. 

Steve and Bucky both had gotten some appreciative looks from women around the bar, but neither one had made a move. They had simply smiled back politely, and gone back to their drinks. 

“See that girl?” Bucky asked and nodded his head towards a table further back. 

She was sitting amongst friends, laughing and seemingly having a wonderful time. She hadn’t noticed them, and she didn’t even as Steve blatantly stared for a moment, before he realized what Bucky was getting at. 

“Yeah,” he said. “She looks a lot like Jess, doesn’t she?” 

“Sure does,” Bucky agreed, before adding; “Never seen Jess smile like that though.” 

He didn’t mean for it to sound so sad, but the statement alone was quite bleak. Neither one of them had ever seen you smile, or look happy. Not even in the beginning, when Yoga Jones had invited you over to meet the family, had you lost the fear and apprehension of every situation and person around. 

“I’ve never seen Jess smile at all,” Steve said, almost correcting Bucky. 

“Nope,” he agreed. 

A moments silence ticked by, their thoughts going from a sad notion to a more uplifting and lighter one. Again, they knew it was a bit crass, and the timing was not the best one, but it continued to make its way back into their minds. Perhaps it was almost losing you that made them want to savor every moment they’d had with you, or maybe it was just as simple as a bit of sexual frustration. Or maybe it was both those things, combined with some feelings they had not yet discovered, or were still keeping hidden from themselves. Maybe. 

“If you saw Jess in a bar, would you pursue her?” Bucky asked as a simple hypothetical, taking a sip from his third beer. 

Steve let out something short of a scoff, raising his brows for a quick minute as he pondered the idea.

“I don’t know… Maybe a bit on the young side, don’t you think?”

“Hey,” Bucky said. “Age is just a number, right?” 

Steve chuckled lightly. 

“Yeah, maybe. What about you?” he asked, taking a swig and almost emptying the bottle. 

Bucky let out a puff of air, before smiling into his own bottle. 

“Probably,” he said, taking a sip. “Can’t blame me though. She’s pretty darn attractive, and she’s just my type.” 

That was true. You were beautiful, albeit timid and afraid, and like they said, they had never seen you smile, but that didn’t mean you didn’t have a beautiful smile too. Sure, they had about ten years on you, but sometimes age was indeed just a number. 

Steve scoffed before he too drank to keep his mouth from spitting out some remark. He enjoyed Bucky being blunt and open, but sometimes he could be a little bit too honest. And sometimes he just got lost in an idea. 

“Hey, don’t give me that shit,” Bucky said in mock offense when he heard Steve’s scoff. “You’ve gone for chicks just like her in the past too, and don’t even try to deny it, pal. You’d bang her if you got the chance.” 

“I did get the chance,” Steve said, raising his brow at his friend, giving him a lopsided smirk. 

It sounded bad, but it also sounded playful. They were talking hypothetically, as if you were just some girl they might meet in a bar, so he allowed his own playfulness to take part. Despite the tug of shame in his stomach, which Bucky seemed to be able to ignore too. 

“So, you did,” Bucky said through a smirk of his own. “And you did not disappoint.” 

Bucky clasped a hand on Steve shoulder appreciatively, as if congratulating him on getting laid. Steve was quick to smack it away.

“Hey, I get around, okay? It’s not like I don’t get laid. It’s just that _some of us_ —” he looked at Bucky pointedly. “—know how to keep it in our pants.”

Bucky couldn’t hold back his roaring laughter. He knew he probably shouldn’t, but any dig from Steve was amusing to him. Steve was never the kind of person to hit low, and he had done it twice today. Bucky was almost proud of him. 

“Fair enough,” he said through his continuing laughter. “I might have been a little bit loose with my morals in the past, I give you that.” 

They left it at that, the conversation dying out and being replaced by a more serious and honest thought. Not that they hadn’t been honest, they always were, but talking this much about their feelings, or what they were thinking was a bit unusual to them. But they both felt relieved to vent.

“You know,” Bucky started, spinning a bottle between his fingers. “I can’t shake the feeling that… no matter what we do, it’s not gonna be enough.” 

Steve looked up from his drink, finding Bucky staring at his own. His tone had changed, it was no longer light and carefree. Now he just sounded sad. 

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Steve said, thinking back on you. “I think we maybe… overdid it. A little bit.” 

Steve hated admitting it, once again, but he also couldn’t escape the feeling of ease that followed anytime he did. The more he confessed, the more he acknowledged his own faults and errors, the easier it was to look ahead. 

Bucky nodded slowly, still lost in the mesmerizing swirl of the liquid inside the bottle. 

“I think it’s more the added pressure from everyone around that might be the problem,” he said. “I think that… if it was just us, just what we did… she would still be okay. Or, maybe not okay, but… I think it’s whatever hell Millers put her through, our… terrorizing, as well as everyone shunning her. Which is, of course, our fault. If everyone around didn’t try to fuck with her, and whatever happened with Millers wasn’t leaked to the news… Maybe she wouldn’t have done it, you know?” 

Steve couldn’t agree more. They were both willing to accept their responsibility, accept their fault and failure, but Bucky was right; it wasn’t just on them. It was the collection of all things that had done it. Not only the abuse you suffered at Millers’ hands, it was the fact that his father had hidden evidence that would prove your innocence, or at the very least your truth. Then prison, which on its own was hard enough, but for you it was even worse. They themselves had gone out of their way to make sure you suffered, then the inmates all turned against you and ganged up on you. Some merely left it at threats, and some had even gone to the lengths of trying to kill you. Whatever situation you had going on with your parents, they didn’t know, but from the sound of your conversation with your stepfather, it wasn’t all that great with your mother at least. 

Combining all that, placing the pieces where they should go, the picture emerged even more clearly. It wasn’t just their fault. It wasn’t just what they had done to you that had rendered you so broken. After all, your confession to Steve had been mostly about the pain Nate had caused you, and how it still affected you to this day. You hadn’t mentioned anything about what they had done, more than in light verses of ‘there’s always someone else there to add to the pain’, which Steve really took to heart. He didn’t consider that you might just simply be too afraid to say anything, but it seemed it was more the inevitability of hurt that left you so shattered. 

“Guess we’ll just have to try harder to keep her safe,” Steve said. “Step up our game.”

Bucky nodded, raising his bottle in a cheer. 

“Cheers to that,” he said, and the glass clinked together, and they both emptied their drinks. 

Just as they were about to order their last drink of the night, two women walked up next to them, leaning over the bar to order their own drinks. One was blonde, her hair up in a stylish ponytail, the other a shorthaired brunette. The blonde was wearing a lowcut, blue blouse, the top buttons undone and showing quite a bit of cleavage, the hint hidden behind a lowriding necklace. The brunette had a white and sheer top on which was almost see-through, making a cleavage redundant. They both looked beautiful, they both looked single, and they both looked like they were looking for a good time.

The women looked over at Steve and Bucky, smiling widely at them.

“Hey,” they both said in unison. 

Bucky gave his best, shining smile, knowing he had a great smile, and by the looks on the women’s faces, they thought so too.

“Hi,” he said, nodding his head just the slightest bit in greeting to both of them. 

Steve was a bit more subtle, not really looking for any attention, but he was never one to be rude. 

“Hi,” he said, giving a soft smile, but not really inviting to anything more.

The bartender walked up again, going firstly to the ladies who seemed more enthusiastic about getting a drink than Steve and Bucky did. 

“What can I get you, ladies?” he asked, leaning on the countertop to make sure he heard them over the band still playing in the background. 

“Could I have a margarita, please?” the brunette asked. 

“A mojito for me, please,” the blonde said with a smile. 

“Coming right up,” the man said, walking over to the mixing station to get the drinks ready.

As the women waited, they decided to keep the conversation going with the boys. After all, who could resist such handsome men sitting all alone in a bar? 

“Are you guys from around here?” the blonde asked. 

Steve and Bucky shared a look, a very telling look if you asked them. Neither one of them were looking for a hook up, that’s why they hadn’t offered to pay for their drinks, but a friendly chat was more than okay. Made them feel like they were more than robots going from the prison to home again. Now, they were actual people, who women seemed to be taking an interest in, at that.

“Yeah,” Bucky said with a smile. “How ‘bout you?”

“Just visiting,” the blonde said, letting her friend cut in.

“Our friend just got engaged, so we’re here for her bachelorette party.” 

“Oh, wow,” Bucky said. “Congratulations!” 

The girls didn’t see it, but Bucky gave Steve a kick under the counter. Steve barely managed to keep his grunt contained, and he definetly didn’t keep his burning scowl contained, but the girls couldn’t see that either. Bucky just grinned, hiding his smile behind his bottle.

“So, how long you’re in town for?” Steve asked, simple and friendly, nothing more. 

“Oh, just for a few days,” the brunette said, her smile widening. “We actually just live about an hour or so from here, but we thought it would be nicer to make a weekend out of it.”

The conversation didn’t last long before two boorish men walked up behind the women, placing a daring hand on one’s waist, the other leaning an arm over the other’s shoulders. The women did not seem comfortable at all, clearly not wanting the men’s attention, even trying to create some distance, but the men didn’t care, or seem to notice. 

“Hello, ladies,” one said, words slurred. 

He was tall, but not as tall as Bucky or Steve, but he looked to weigh about the same, just not from the same substance, so to speak. His striped button up looked crinkled, and his jacket could use a spin in the washer.

“What brings two such fine ladies to out little neck of the woods, huh?” the other man asked, leaning in even closer to the blonde. 

He looked a few years older than the other man, his hair thinning out in places, but he was in better shape than his younger companion. He was unshaven, looking rugged and not in a good way, and he clearly couldn’t read the room.

“Hey,” Bucky called out, his eyes setting a harsher tone than before, but trying to keep his tone lighter so he didn’t instigate anything on his own. “I think your company is unwanted for. Why don’t you leave the girls alone, and have a drink on your own instead, alright?” 

The first one, the shorter one, grinned at Bucky as he took him in. Bucky kept his cool and composure, not wavering under the man’s gaze. He then turned his head to look at Steve, who was more than prepared for the look the man gave him, as well as the snarl of a laugh which followed.

“Oh, please,” the man said with a chuckle. “What are you gonna do about it, fag?”

That earned a bellowing laugh from the other man, whilst the girls just looked uncomfortable. Steve and Bucky on the other hand, were cool, calm and collected. Unruly inmates were not unusual and part of their daily routine, and before that they had lived in a fricking warzone, so a couple of drunken men at a bar, spitting out homophobic slurs in an attempt to embarrass them was an easy task to handle. And why people still thought calling someone gay was an insult, neither one of them could understand. 

“What?” the other man said once he finished laughing at his friends ‘joke’. “You’re gonna get your boyfriend here to fight your battle for you?” 

The men laughed, and the women looked embarrassed as they were still trying to get away from the groping men, but that all stopped when both Steve and Bucky rose to their feet. 

The men stopped laughing, maybe a bit taken aback by the accepted challenge, maybe pleased to get a rise out of them. No matter the cause, they seemed to sober up just a tad. The women took the opportunity to slither away, and thankfully the drunk men let them, having other things on their minds it seemed as they squared up with Steve and Bucky. 

“Apologize to the ladies for bothering them, and we won’t have a problem,” Steve said, voice dropping down an octave.

Bucky came up to his side, standing up straight and staring the men down. They knew the other men had thought they would back down from a fight, take offense to the insolent taunts and simply hand over the women like they were property, but they had another thing coming. Bucky and Steve had come to the bar that night to let off some steam, and a barfight would do just that. Perhaps they could ease some of that pent-up energy by throwing a few punches if the occasion called for it. 

The other guys shared a look between themselves, seemingly weighing their chances. Steve and Bucky were bigger in not only height, but size as well. Sure, the shorter man seemed to carry his weight alright, and both looked like they could handle themselves in a situation like this. But so did Steve and Bucky.

“What’s it gonna be?” Bucky asked with a raise of a brow, pushing for an answer.

The ladies looked on, gazes jumping from one set of men to the other, anxiously waiting to see how it all would go down. But the bartender did not only look on.

“Hey!” he shouted from across the counter as he stomped over. “Take it someplace else, fellas. If you’re gonna fight, take it outside.” 

Steve and Bucky both raised an expectant eyebrow at the other men, waiting to see if they would listen to the owner of the bar, or keep up their macho bullshit and actually want to take it outside.

The men seemed to sober up at the sight of Steve and Bucky not wavering under the threat from the barman, seeming to accept the change of scenery if that’s what it took to sort this thing out. And the barman himself didn’t look too uncomfortable either, probably having no problem shutting everything down should he need to. 

After a tense moment, the other men took a step back, visibly shrinking away, if only a little. 

“Nah,” the older one said. “Come one, man, it’s not worth it.” 

The younger man looked Bucky and Steve up and down as his friend threw an arm over his shoulders to start leading him away. 

"Yeah,” he agreed. “They can keep the sluts if they want ‘em.” 

“What you say?” Bucky almost barked, stepping up in front of the man before his sobering friend could remove him. 

The tension was back. All four men seemed like they were pulled as tight as a string, ready to snap at any moment. Steve was ready at Bucky’s side should it kick off. And the younger man didn’t seem to register the clear threat Bucky was portraying, actually scoffing in his face. 

“I said,” he slurred. “Keep the fuckin’ sluts if ya wan’ ‘em.” 

He even tried to get up in Bucky’s face, but his friend managed to hold him back.

“Hey, hey, it’s not worth it, man,” he tried to reason, but the man only had Bucky in mind, and Bucky was not stepping down. 

“Apologize,” he said, voice way too calm to be relaxing. “Now.”

The women didn’t know what to believe as they waited. The drunken men seemed to be asking for a fight, and Steve and Bucky didn’t seem to back down from it either. But they didn’t want anything to happen because of them, and Bucky and Steve seemed to be fighting for their honor more than their own right now. 

"I ain’t got shit to apologize for,” the man said, a smile following his words.

Steve took a step closer, knowing he was crowding both the other men as well as Bucky.

“I think you do,” he said warningly. “That’s no way to talk to a lady, either about her or to her face. So, apologize. Now. Or we’ll take this outside as the nice barman suggested.”

The bartender was still standing close by, keeping to his side of the counter but ready should he need to intervene. He seemed to appreciate Steve’s offer, once again mentioning that the owner had in fact asked them to take it someplace else.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Phil,” the older man said, reeling his friend back, before turning to the ladies himself. “Sorry. We didn’t mean no disrespect.” 

He waited for his friend to say the same, but it didn’t come before he received a tight grip on his shoulder as a warning. 

“Yeah,” he said reluctantly, turning his gaze from Steve and Bucky to the women. “Sorry.” 

“Alright?” the other man asked his challengers, hoping to get the clear to leave. 

“It’s not us you’re apologizing to,” Steve pointed out. “Ladies?”

Steve turned his head to the women, asking to see if the apology was enough, as did the older man. But Bucky did not look away from the younger man, seemingly not ready to back off. 

“Yeah, it’s… fine,” the blonde said, her friend nodding. 

They didn’t really seem okay with it, it hadn’t been a real apology in the first place, but they really didn’t want anyone to fight over them, not or something trivial as what they always dealt with when going out, which shouldn’t be the case, but still.

“There,” the older man said, dragging his friend who was still scowling at Bucky a few steps back. “We all good?” 

“We’re fine,” Bucky said, nodding his head up as a means of ending the conversation. 

“Alright, then. Have a good night.” 

And with that, he managed to pull his struggling friend out the door with him, but not before both Steve and Bucky could hear the man mutter; “I could’ve taken him…” to which they both just smirked. Because he really couldn’t. 

“You alright?” Steve asked the women, once they made their way back over to the bar counter from where they had been hiding, their drinks being placed before them with a smile from the barman.

“Yeah,” the blonde said, taking a calming sip. “Thank you so much. You didn’t have to do that.” 

“Of course, we did,” Bucky chimed in, grabbing what was left of his beer. “Those assholes had no business talking to you like that.”

Both women nodded slowly, a shy smile on both their faces. 

“Yeah, well… thank you,” the brunette said. “I’m Denise, by the way. This is Sarah,” she said and pointed to her friend. 

“I’m Steve, this is Bucky.”

“Hi,” the girls said with a bit of a titter. 

“Hi,” Bucky and Steve responded with a smile each. 

What had started out as a friendly moment, then became a hostile one, and now it was more or less just uncomfortable. Steve and Bucky mutely asked each other if they should get another drink, but neither one was in the mood. They knew that if they stayed any longer, this night might end up being more than friendly, and neither were looking for that right now. They had… other things on their minds. 

“Well,” Steve said, breaking the silence. “We should get going.”

“You girls have a good night, alright?” Bucky said, placing a few bills on the counter next to their empty bottles to close out their tab. 

“Thanks,” Denise said with a smile. “You too!” 

Bucky and Steve gave them both a tight but warm smile, before they headed out the door and into the fresh air. They pulled out their keys and got on their bikes without another word, only sharing a knowing smile with each other. But before they could start the engines, Sarah came running though the door, flagging them down. Both Steve and Bucky looked up at her, waiting to see what she could want.

“Uhm,” she started, and pulled out a napkin. “Here’s our numbers, if you… if you wanna call some time. The night was great before those guys showed up, so…” 

She looked a bit uncomfortable where she stood, fidgeting a little bit with her hands, maybe to keep from getting cold as the night was turning chiller by the minute. 

“And-and thank you,” she said. “Again. We really appreciate it.” 

“Our pleasure,” Bucky said, leaning over the handlebars to flash her one of his many charming smiles. 

“You two have a great night,” Steve said and smiled fondly at her, and started his engine. “Hope trouble doesn’t find you again.” 

Sarah backed away from the bikes, giving both men a small wave as they revved their engines and driving off and away down the street, before she headed back inside the bar again. What she didn’t see, was the napkin with two names and numbers scribbled down on them, swivel through the air behind the bikes as they speeded down the road, lost and forgotten just as quickly as they had received it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all you lovely people! <3 
> 
> The next chapter or the one after that (or maybe both) might be a little late 'cause I'm going on a trip and won't have the time to write... 
> 
> I am dealing with a few issues on my own right now, AS WELL as having split thoughts about how this story should end, which influences my writing more than I want it to... Therefore, it takes me a bit longer to make sure I don't deviate from my original plan too much, and actively battle the monster in my head trying to force me into basically rewriting my entire freakin' story! 
> 
> Just out of curiosity, what would you guys like to see happen with our dear and not so dear characters? I love hearing your thoughts and feelings, and reading every single comment of yours really makes my day <3 
> 
> Thank you all for being here, for your support and love! I could never in a million years have expected the amount of appreciation for this fic! You truly are amazing people, and I am so glad to share this story with you all <3 
> 
> All the best to you! <3 
> 
> xoxo


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new guard enters the prison...
> 
> Thank you Pumpkin_Empanada for the recommendation! :*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! :D 
> 
> Sorry for the long wait! My trip got cancelled due to Covid and has been postponed, but instead I got sick and was bedridden for a while... BUT! I have been gifted by the gods, and can now present to you a new chapter! It's not the longest, because it was almost _the_ longest as it is still going, so I decided to split it in two... The next chapter will be up within a few days, I just have to finish it and edit it :)
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and leaving me such lovely comments, I love seeing everyone come together in their hate for Peeve and Fucky! A community that hates together, stays together! 
> 
> Stay safe, stay healthy everyone! <3

It turns out accepting the small dose of sedative had been the right choice. Were you particularly well rested? No, not really, but you had managed to get some shuteye without the panic rising even more, so there was that to be grateful for. Nightmares had plagued you per usual, memories mixing with fearful scenarios you were sure had merely not yet happened, and faces muddled and shifted from one horrible and haunting grin to the other. 

The night nurse had been as quiet as she usually was, and she had let you sleep throughout the night. But the soreness around your bare wrist told of a worrisome night tugging at the restraints, which of course had not settled the horrible dreams at all. Your broken wrist ached slightly, letting you know it wasn’t just the healthy one that had been assaulted by the cuffs, as well as the morphine being truly out of your system now. 

Your mouth ached and throbbed, the stitch keeping the cut sealed felt like it was pulling too hard whenever you moved your mouth, and you had a raging headache. Nights like these usually had that affect, the pain radiating from inside your mind to the outside. And the fluorescent lights were no help either, making even your eye sockets feel like pots of lava. Safe to say; it was not a good morning. 

Bruce had come in early, like every day since you arrived down at medical. He couldn’t rest at home anyway, not when he was busy worrying about you and your safety. And he had plenty to do at work, so if anyone asked, he was in actuality busy with work. 

He had arrived to hear the full report from the night nurse, telling him about your troublesome night. Yes, you had indeed slept, but whenever she had been in there to check on you, you had whimpered and cried out for help, or for whoever you were dreaming about to stop. She said that you had tugged and pulled at the restraints, thrashed around as much as your unconscious brain would allow you to, and your heartrate had been up to almost two hundred, even as you slept. 

Bruce felt the pang of guilt eat away at him as he watched you through the windows of the corridor. You had only just woken up, and you looked to be both uncomfortable and sore, moving your body around as much as you could trying to relieve the ache. He feared he had made the wrong decision by putting you in those terrible restraints, but at least you were alive. 

He thought back to your words. _The hardest thing in this world is to live in it_. You had asked that he didn’t ask you to live in such a harsh and cruel world, yet he had put those restraints on you to make sure you couldn’t hurt yourself again. He had not asked you to live, he had demanded it.

He had never felt that way himself. He’d had a good life, a life of happiness and joy, a bit of love on the way, so he really couldn’t complain. But to hear those words come out of your mouth, so weak and fearful, he had come to realize that such pain might be closer than he had first thought. Everyone knew the hardships of the world, and that not everyone was as fortunate at Bruce himself was. He knew that people had their struggles, and things they dealt with in silence, but he had never been so close to it as he was now. And he had never been as involved as he was with you. 

Bruce picked up a tray of breakfast foods sitting outside your room ready to be taken in to you, and lifted his tag to the pad and pushed the door open. Your head snapped towards him, eyeing both him and the contents of the tray with guarded eyes. 

“Good morning,” Bruce said with a smile, setting the tray down next to you on the bedside table. 

“Good morning,” you rasped, clearing your throat to get rid of the awful itch. 

You figured that you must have called out in the night, perhaps even screamed. It wasn’t rare that a sore throat accompanied the straining tension of your muscles after such vivid dreams, the traces usually lingered for hours after you had woken up.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asked, and immediately started checking all of the machines, wires, tubes and various things around your body in a visual examination. 

Well, safe from the raging headache, sore throat, tender wrists, aching muscles, tight chest and the reluctant fear creeping around in the back of your mind, you were right as rain. 

“I’m fine, sir,” you said, your throat easing up a bit as your chords warmed up. 

“Good,” Bruce said. “That’s good. Did you manage to sleep at all?”

Of course, Bruce knew the answer to the question, but he thought it polite and caring to at least ask. 

“Yes,” you said, clearing you throat of the last itch. “Thank you, sir, for... the help.”

But if it had done more good than harm was hard to tell. Yes, you had slept, but you were not rested. And the nightmares which were usually pretty bad on their own, had had outside help in the real world as well. Perhaps the help hadn’t been that great. But no panic attack, so... Yay? 

“My pleasure,” Bruce said, as he absentmindedly started uncuffing the restraints. 

Your eyes followed his movements, brows scrunched up as you waited for him to give you some sort of explanation as to why he was untying to without any precaution. You looked up at his face, thinking you would find the answer to the unspoken question since there was a tray of food waiting and he wasn’t about to handfeed you, but instead there was sorrow and guilt slowly being eased away along with the ties. Bruce looked relieved once both straps were lying unused beside you, albeit slightly worried about the hint of blue and purple around your bare wrist. 

He took your hand in his own, cradling it like he was sure his mere touch would scorch you. There was an initial flinch before you let your hand lay still in his, allowing him to do as he pleased. The mental strain of submitting yet again, no matter how small of an action, was digging a deeper and deeper hole in your mind, but Bruce didn’t seem to notice. 

“Does it hurt?” he asked, turning it over to see. 

Compared to when officer Barnes had broken the other one, no, it didn’t hurt. Compared to not being bruised at all, yes, it ached a bit. 

“Not much,” you said honestly, feeling like there was no use in lying either way. 

Bruce nodded sombrely as he gave you hand its freedom back, before painting on a smile and nodding towards the tray. 

“You should eat something. Your body needs the energy to heal, so... please eat as much as you can.” 

You sat up straighter, pushing your cushion up behind your back to rest against. 

“Alright,” you said with a small smile.

Eyeing the quite tempting cup of yoghurt sitting there, as well as a glass of what looked like orange juice, your stomach growled slightly, agreeing with the nurse it would seem. The last solid food you had eaten was that godforsaken Twix you had been gifted, and that had brought its own worry as you weighed the pros and cons of accepting it, but ultimately surrendering to the comforting chocolate. After that, you had been on a steady supply of IV’s to help your body heal and cope, so that tray of prison food was starting to look as appealing as a three-course dinner at the Ritz. 

Bruce was kind enough to place the tray on your lap instead, allowing you to sit more comfortably while you ate. He then turned to leave, which surprised you. Was he about to leave you alone? Unsupervised? With cutlery? Plastic cutlery, but still. 

“Y-you’re not staying?” you found yourself asking before you could stop the words from flying out of your mouth. 

Bruce raised his brows slightly, as surprised as you were by the looks of it that you had spoken, but he soon replaced his chocked expression with a warm smile. 

“No, you eat in peace,” he said. “I’ll come back for the tray later.”

And with that, he exited through the door, and left you in said peace to eat your breakfast. 

You eyed the door, following the nurse’s back as he disappeared into his office without a second glance back at you. He seemed unworried. Like the possibility of you hurting yourself in his absence was close to naught. Which it was in a way. You had no intention of doing anything to hurt yourself while in his care, for many reasons. Not only was he kind most of the time, he had also thought he was to blame for your little... departure. Then, like all men in your life, he had taken the power away from you, controlled not only your conscience, but your actions as well. There was respect mixed with fear, and gratefulness mixed with sadness when it came to the good nurse. So any plans of _departing_ in any way that wasn’t walking out of here on your own two feet were quickly shot down, for one reason or another. 

You ate, not only the yoghurt (which was gone in a flash) and drank the very tasty OJ (despite being very low brand), you surprisingly finished the bowl of porridge-like substance and ate the stale piece of toast that didn’t have any butter on it (because the prison had a budget and the inmates in medical did not require any tastiness apparently) with a surprisingly good appetite. You were hungrier than you had thought, which was saying a lot since you had no convictions otherwise. 

Placing the tray back on the table beside you, you carefully eyed the restraints on either side of you. They were just laying there, mocking you, daring you. Should you put them back on? Would it actually do any good, besides showing a good spirit? It wasn’t like you could tighten both of them anyway. And just looking at them had your heart beating stronger in your chest, reminding you of its power to quickly bring that panic back as if it had never left in the first place. 

No, you were going to enjoy your freedom while you could, so you let them rest beside you, as you tried to focus on something else besides the cage you were currently locked in. It wasn’t easy, but apparently humming the tunes to the multiplication tables you learned in preschool worked wonders, and didn’t just keep your mind busy and entertained, it worked that last trace of irritation out of your throat. Over and over and over again. You were really good at multiplication.

O.o.O.o.O

Last night had been a great night in many ways for the boys; realization had hit that they might be at least starting to feel something _more_ for you, they’d had a few drinks and laughs, and gotten to put some drunken assholes in their place. Also, getting to reject two beautiful women didn’t exactly bruise their egos either. Overall, it had been a good night. 

It hadn’t ended with a _bang_ per se, but both boys had taken the liberty to watch some light dom/sub porn and jerked off to the imagination that it had been you and them, fantasy blending with memory of the night of _the incident_. They pictured the tight feeling of your pussy trying to force them out, trying to stop them from invading your body completely while they effortlessly held you down against the table. They remembered the sweet noises you had made, such innocence, such fear as you whimpered and cried beneath them, _begged_ them not to hurt you. The climax had almost been as good as that night. 

Their moans had been heard through the walls of the house, but having shared such an experience as their ‘sexcapade’ while the other was in the room, left little care for hearing the other man jerk off through a wall. They had simply smiled knowingly at each other in the morning, and left it at that. 

They were both in a good mood as they arrived at work. They both felt lighter, happier to relieve themselves of some of the hardship of carrying such guilt with them at all times. It was still there, but they buried it deep down and didn’t even as much as scratch at the door to that cage, not wanting to provoke it anymore than they had to. No, it was nicer and better to just enjoy their fluttering hearts, their dirty minds and inside jokes. At least for the time being.

They walked into the staffroom, hanging their leather jackets on the hooks on the wall and went to their lockers to put their things away. 

“Morning,” O’Neill said as they walked through the door, the large man chipper as always in the morning. 

“Morning,” Bucky and Steve both said in unison, putting their stuff away into their lockers. 

Bennett was sitting by the table, along with CO Bell and Kowalski who were all sipping their morning coffee before their shifts started. They seemed to be mid conversation about something, but neither Steve nor Bucky payed it any attention. 

“What up, bitches?” Luscheck all but shouted as he walked in, holding both his hands in peace-signs in contradiction to his words. 

Everyone just sighed at him, some rolling their eyes even. But all that did was get a snorting chuckle from the slacking, offensive officer who always seemed to go out of his way in trying to make everyone annoyed. 

Their captain, Joe Caputo walked through the door, his own cup of coffee in hand and a friendly smile on his face. Behind him was a darkhaired man with a face shadowed with stubble, who followed suit and smiled tightly at the people in the room, he himself already in uniform. The blue shirt fit tightly across a fit chest, his slacks catching across strong thighs. He was almost as tall as Steve and Bucky, and of a similar build, albeit slightly smaller overall. He carried himself with confidence, his face all sharp lines. He was looking assertive even as he stood casually behind Caputo. 

“Good morning,” Joe said, moving a step to the side to introduce the new team member. “This is officer Rumlow from our Max facility down the hill. He’ll be joining us for a time, seeing as we are a bit... short-staffed at the moment.” Even though he didn’t mention Mendez’ name, all the other officers knew what he was referring to.

“Hi,” Rumlow said, nodding his head to the people around. 

Everyone greeted him with either a smile or a nod, some warmer than other. Both Steve and Bucky felt there was something off with the new officer. They couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but something about him didn’t sit right with them. But they nodded their heads in acknowledgement nonetheless. 

“Even though he is an experienced officer—” Joe continued. “—he is new to camp, so please do your best to show him the ropes and I’m sure he’ll have it down in no time. I’ll leave you to it.” 

Joe held an inviting arm out for the new CO to step further into the room and get familiar with everyone, before he himself walked back out the room. Steve was quick to follow, after getting an agreeing nod from Bucky, who stayed behind to get to know their new colleague.

“Joe!” he called, and Caputo turned around just as Steve jogged up. 

“Ah, Steve! Is there anything I can do for you?”

Steve looked behind him to check that there weren’t any other officers who had followed, but he was indeed alone with his captain in the narrow hallway. 

“We – me and Barnes – we were thinking about inmate Harper, and... I’m sure you’re aware of our former friendship with CO Millers, right?”

Joe looked somewhat uncomfortable where he stood, swaying from one foot to the other and looking around more than he was looking at Steve. 

“I am aware, yes,” he said. “I’m also aware that neither one of you had any prior understanding of the... circumstances regarding officer Millers and inmate Harper. Don’t think otherwise. I am one hundred percent on your side here, Rogers.”

“Thank you, sir,” Steve said, carrying on with his agenda. “After everything that has happened with inmate Harper, we both feel that we wanna do whatever we can to keep her safe. We were wondering if you could let us take point lead when it came to her? Seeing everything that happened with Millers... We feel somewhat responsible.”

Joe nodded, taking in the offer and regarding the other possibilities. Rogers and Barnes had both been trusted allies when it came to making things run as smoothly as possible when it came to you, both being there to help whenever he had asked. They had never let him down in the past, and had showed themselves to be more than capable of handling the dramatics surrounding a mess like your case. 

“Yes, yes, I understand,” Joe said. “Seeing how you have already done so much for her, I think it would be wise to have someone there who she’s comfortable with. I’ll leave it up to you guys to take care of her, and make sure everything goes accordingly. You have my full support on this, Steve. Good initiative.” 

Caputo held out his hand, which Steve took with appreciation. 

“Thank you, sir. We won’t disappoint you.” 

“Never thought you would,” Joe said as they split apart. “Now, I gotta run. There’s a meeting in Utica which... is about as appealing as it sounds. You hold down the fort, Rogers!”

“Thank you, sir,” Steve repeated as he watched Joe already walking away, seemingly in a bit of a hurry. 

Steve turned back towards the staffroom to get acquainted with his new colleague, possibly working out why he felt the way he did about the man. A few people had already left to get their day started, leaving Rumlow alone with Luscheck, Bennett and Bucky when Steve had gone after Caputo. As he appeared in the doorway again, Steve thought Bucky looked utterly unimpressed by the Max guard who was currently telling a vivid and probably blown-up story about a sweep which ended with him singlehandedly taking down four inmates. When Bucky noticed Steve standing there, he just raised his brows amusingly at him with a smirk evident on his face. Steve just raised his brows right back in a silent response of feigned fascination. 

“Well,” Bennett said once Rumlow finished telling the very informative story. “At least here in minimum things are a bit quieter.” 

Bennett seemed a tad uncomfortable too, his smile not carrying its usually easiness. Nevertheless, Rumlow didn’t seem to care, he simply crossed his arms amusingly. 

“Really?” he said, a ghostly smile appearing on his face. “And what’s this I hear about a certain Guard Killer? Inmate Harper, was it? She’s in minimum, right?” 

Bucky’s eyes shot to Steve with a worry hinting at the corners of the blue at the mention of you, finding him walking through the door with enough noise to alert Rumlow of his presence, hoping to catch the attention and draw it away from the subject of you. The new guard turned around at the sound, nodding his head at the man. 

“Rogers, right?” 

“Yeah, Steve,” he said and forced a smile, being courteous enough to hold out his hand. 

Rumlow graciously placed his hand in Steve’s, shaking it politely. Rumlow wasn’t sure whether to be impressed by the strength of the other man’s grip, or if it was some sort of intimidation tactic. Nevertheless, he shook his hand with a straining smile to keep up appearances. 

“Brock.” 

Steve nodded his head back for a quick second, their hands falling apart once Steve felt Brock had gotten the message loud and clear. Bennett however, seized the opportunity to sneak away as the two men were busy sizing each other up. 

“Well, I gotta... yeah...” he said, and disappeared around the doorframe. 

Luscheck on the other hand, found the new guard amusing; now he wasn’t alone in pissing people off with his mere presence. And the new guy seemed to have his own way of doing things, so his territory as the slacking jokester wasn’t the least bit threatened. And anything that pissed off the ‘Army Boys’ as Luscheck had tagged Steve and Bucky as, was almost popcorn worthy to look at. And he did not want to let the subject go. 

“She’s down in medical, actually,” Luscheck butted in, coffee cup in one hand, the other in the pocket of his slacks. “Harper, the... _Guard Killer_ ,” he said in a bogeyman voice and a laughter. 

Brock seemed to light up at the information, whereas Bucky and Steve looked more and more brooding by the second, their broad shoulders tense and rigid, jaws clenching to keep spiteful words from falling and telling Luscheck to mind his own fucking business. 

“Really?” Brock asked. “How come?”

“Uh, a few inmates jumped her. Wasn’t too bad, though, but I think she was stabbed, wasn’t she?” Luscheck asked his fellow officers. 

If looks could kill, Luscheck would drop dead on the spot from the daggers being thrown at him from both Steve and Bucky alike. Bucky drew a tight breath before speaking, but Steve beat him to the punch. 

“Yeah,” he said, eyes firmly set on Luscheck. “And it could’ve been a lot worse hadn’t we been there.” 

“Why’d you stop them, though?” Rumlow asked, brows furrows in serious bewilderment.

“What?” Steve asked.

“Well, she’s a murderer, isn’t she? She killed one of your own. So, I’m asking; why’d you stop the inmates from doing worse than simply stabbing her?”

Bucky felt his blood boil at the uncivil and ignorant question. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? And to speak of you that way, wishing you more harm than what you had already been through, questioning why they stopped someone from killing you like they had made the wrong decision. And there is no way of _simply_ stabbing someone.

“Because it’s our fuckin’ job,” Bucky spat out, not even caring to try hold back the spite in his voice as he stared the other man down. 

Brock raised an amused eyebrow, turning his head from Steve, who had initially taken his interest, to the other, seemingly quite offended, officer standing by his locker. His posture mirrored his own; arms crossed and muscles taut, but where Brock was smirking, Bucky was fighting to keep his mouth shut. 

“Can’t argue with you on that,” Rumlow said after a tense moment had passed, a small smile even appearing on his face.

Luscheck looked on from his spot by the counter, grinning like a little schoolboy at the display playing out before him, revelling in the high tension and pent-up energy ready to explode should someone press the right button. 

“Guess you do things a little different down at Max,” Steve said, letting the words speak both in insult and observation. 

Brock just looked at him, his smirk widening even under the intense pressure of Steve’s eyes, the distaste quite obviously hidden beneath his polite exterior. 

“Guess we do.” 

The cockfight would have gone on – if anything, fuelled by a wisecrack from Luscheck at the exact right/wrong moment – had they not been interrupted by counsellor Healy walking in to grab his morning coffee. He was as oblivious as always, and failed to both see and feel the tension in the room between the three officers, all standing within a few feet of each other, arms crossed over puffed out chests and biceps on display in a silent contest of masculinity. Except for Luscheck who had no business in such a competition in the first place, and simply kept to the back with a snide remark at the ready.

“Gentlemen,” Healy said, and moved past Steve to get to the coffee pot. 

All three officers took a calming step back, much to Luscheck’s dismay, and let the moment go. 

“Healy,” Steve said, civil as always, but still keeping his eye on Rumlow. 

Bucky on the other hand said nothing at all, simply gluing his eyes to the offending man who had plenty to say before their superior walked in. Bucky mentally dared Brock to open his mouth in front of Healy, and smirked to himself as he pictured the man cower under the threat. 

“Well,” Luscheck said as he grew bored of the silence. “I’m gonna go. See ya later, losers!”

He zigzagged between the frozen officers, making sure not to spill his coffee as he darted from one side to the other to escape the smothering testosterone, and scurried out the door without even as much as a glance in Healy’s direction. 

Once he had filled up his cup, Healy turned around. He had a hint of an uncertain smile on his face, but the oblivion was still very much present. 

“So,” he said, taking a sip of the steaming hot brew. “You must be Rumlow.”

“Yes, sir,” Rumlow said, turning his head fully to meet Healy’s eyes. 

“Well, good to have you here, Rumlow. Things have been a little... crazy around here lately. And short-staffed. So it’s good to have a man like yourself here to step up and get down with it.”

Bucky fought so hard to keep from shaking his head at Healy’s attempt to use ‘modern lingo’ and failing miserably and just sounding even older than he was, which was saying a lot. And his unsure titter let everyone know of his insecurity as well. 

“That’s been my understanding, sir,” Brock said, head twisting to look at both Steve and Bucky the same, letting them know he did in fact mean it as an insult. 

Steve leaned his head slightly to the side, the hint of a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth to show there was no way Rumlow was going to get a rise out of him no matter how hard he tried. He might have heard the offensiveness of the other man’s words, as had Bucky, but they were not taking the bait. 

“I think your expertise is needed down at intake,” Steve said calmly, ignoring Healy’s presence completely. “You know how these inmates can be, things can get a little rowdy from time to time and you seem to be more than comfortable with that sorta thing, no problem asserting yourself.” 

Bucky smirked where he stood, loving the feistiness coming out of Steve. Perhaps this side of him wasn’t so rare after all, he had shown quite of bit of it as of late. Even in front of Healy, their superior. But Steve and Bucky both doubted that this new Rumlow fella was going to dare to try anything in front of said superior, not on his first day on the job. Steve and Bucky might know of Healy’s daftness, but Rumlow had most likely not yet picked up on it. 

Brock could sense the tension in the room, the energy rising and the smell of testosterone was becoming apparent as all three men stood there with folded arms, muscles taut and biceps flexing where the fabric caught. Rumlow was not used to backing down, and he didn’t exactly back down per se, but he knew how to pick his moments. And this was not the right moment. 

“Guess I better find the intake, then,” he answered, eyes still locked with Steve who was stood right before him still, before jumping to Bucky’s shortly. 

The first hint of daftness was shown from Healy, when he failed to, again, see or feel the tension built up in the room, and decided to chime in. 

“Just take a right and you’ll see it at the end of the corridor,” he said, even smiling proudly, thinking he just helped a fellow officer out. 

“Right,” Rumlow said, eyes locked with Bucky now instead, despite it meant turning his head even further away from Healy. “Thank you, sir. I’m sure I’ll find it just fine.” 

Bucky tugged his cheeks up to give the man a quick and mirthless smile, and took a step back to allow him to move out. Steve mirrored Bucky’s movement, and took a short step to the other side, creating a path between them, purposely keeping the gap a bit tight. 

Rumlow cleared his throat, looking at the floor. 

“Gentlemen,” he said, nodding his head once, before carefully stepping through the shown pathway between his fellow officers. 

He nudged Bucky’s elbow a bit, which caused him to bump slightly into Steve’s shoulder, but he ignored it the best he could, clearing his throat again uncomfortably as he walked out, like a puppy with its tail tucked between its legs almost. Little did they know that said puppy, was a full-grown Pitbull. 

Steve and Bucky couldn’t help their grins, mutely both saying ‘what an asshole’, and walked back to their lockers to finish putting their stuff away. They had forgotten that Healy was in the room, at least to their best ability, but his annoying voice was heard behind them both, following a loud sigh to try and get some attention. 

“Nice fella,” Healy said, clearly not knowing how to read a room. 

Bucky just rolled his eyes, thankfully turned away from Healy so he couldn’t see, handing the very tedious task of talking to Healy over to Steve, who completely ignored the former statement.

“Anything we can do for you, Healy?” Steve asked, putting his phone away on the small shelf inside his locker. 

“Oh, yes,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. “I met Joe in the hallway, he told me that you two were now in charge of inmate Harper.” 

Bucky looked over at Steve, not having gotten to hear how that little meeting went, but glad to hear it went well. Steve gave his friend a quick smile and a wink. 

“We are,” he stated to Healy, still keeping his back turned. 

“Well, I’d like to talk to her,” Healy said easily. 

Bucky turned his head, looking over his shoulder at where Healy stood, smiling and sipping coffee. 

“What about, sir?” he asked, making sure to keep his tone in check, the spite for Rumlow still lingering in his system. 

“I am her counsellor after all. I wanna check in, see how she’s doing with everything. I’ve heard a lot around the prison so... Can’t hurt to talk to her, set a few things straight, is all.” 

Bucky doubted that would do any good at this point. Healy, again, wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, and failed to see nuances and layers in both people and their words. How well a conversation would go after everything that has happened to you, was doubtful at best. He didn’t want to admit the tinge of worry starting to creep to the surface at the thought, not wanting Healy to do any more damage than had already been done. 

“We’ll bring her up for ya,” Bucky said tightly, earning an appreciative smile from Healy. 

“Thank you, Barnes. Please bring nurse Banner up as well. Could use his insight on the matter.” 

“Will do,” Steve said, joining the conversation. 

Neither one payed Healy any real attention once they turned around to head off down to medical. They simply gave him a tug of a smile, and went out the door. 

Healy wasn’t their favourite person in the prison, even some of the more troublesome inmates ranking higher than him, but he was their superior officer, and there was no disrespecting that. Though Bucky still felt like Steve had made a mistake in turning down Caputo’s job, maybe then they wouldn't have to put up with Sam Healy’s bullshit. But at least he hadn’t made a fuzz about the decision to let Bucky and Steve take point when it came to you, something they were both excited and relieved about. 

It gave them the opportunity to not only be close to you, making sure that you were safe and looked out for, it also meant that no one could question their presence by your side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE!!! 
> 
> Pitbulls are NOT aggressive dogs, they are cuddly-wuddly little love muffins who don't deserve the stigma that has been put on them! Saying that, Brock is very much capable of what a Pitbull is capable of if need be, hence the metaphor! Plus, it has a better ring to it than calling him a Chihuahua, don't you think? ;)


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting with Healy, and someone somewhere schemes a plan...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU to everyone who reads this fic, you are all so amazing! I have met such awesome people through this site and this project, and I am grateful to every single one of you for being here and reading this fic! I cannot thank you enough, you have all changed my life <3 
> 
> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Cuts and bruises, past physical pain, emotional pain

You had taken the opportunity to go to the bathroom whilst you were still left unrestrained, pulling the rod with the IV’s along with you. Sure, you knew more than well how to unhook it all safely, flush the catheter and reattach them all, but something told you that would be frowned upon by the nurse. What was frowned upon by you was the inability to lock the bathroom door behind you... 

You did your business in a hurry and washed your hands, getting yourself as cleaned up as you could with nothing but a sink and some paper towels, swiping the damp cloth across your body in an attempt to clean yourself off. A shower would be nice, but you hadn’t seen one anywhere nearby when you had passed through the hallways. The SHU was bound to be the closest, if not psych, but you’d rather not find out how the inmates were forced to wash off there. Even though the regular bathrooms had more people in them, it still felt somewhat safer than being alone with a guard, like you had been while in the SHU. And in psych? Hell, the inmates might even be cuffed to the fucking wall and sprayed with cold water for all you knew, and you were not curious enough to find out. 

Facing yourself, you examined the cut on your lip, the wound throbbing and itching like there was no tomorrow, the stich aching as it pulled. It was a good sign, you knew, but that didn’t make it any less annoying or painful while it healed. The bruise surrounding it reached the bottom of your chin, and spread out over the lower part of your cheek, the colour a mix between purple and a blushing tone of red. 

The cut on your forehead was almost completely healed and gone, leaving only a pale, pink line where it once was. You remembered its making like it was yesterday, even seeing the despise that had been written across Bucky’s face as he had stared you down after slamming you into that machine opening.

The cut and bruise from your tumble down the stairs were also almost completely healed, leaving only a shadow on your skin left to tell, its birthday too more than close in mind. Gladly, the other marks made by the officers were hidden beneath your clothes, so you didn’t have to face the loudness of their threat just from looking in the mirror. 

Though, you still couldn’t help but lift up your shirt and inspect the wound which tugged on your abdomen. You were so used to seeing the old marks that you payed them no mind, zeroing in on the nylon thread which held your skin together, as well as the redness spreading all around it. It was healing nicely, and covered the old bruise caused by Bucky’s fist just fine, though that particular bruise was quickly passing. 

There were still small, purple or yellowing spots where their fingers hand grazed your skin with such violence, their hands grabbing at you like hungry wolves over a fawn. They littered the expanse of your flesh like a map covered in place markers, mapping out their presence. You pulled the layers of shirts down again, forcing the haunting thoughts to follow, and leave you alone. Though they rarely listened. 

Walking back out from the bathroom, you were startled to find not only nurse Banner standing by the door wating for you, but officer Barnes and Rogers were both standing in the hallway on the other side of the door, seemingly also waiting for you. 

You couldn’t stop the gasp from falling from your lips once you spotted them all, eyes worryingly jumping between the officers behind the glass, before ultimately landing on the man in the room with you. The grip on the metal rod tightened and trembled as you waited to hear what was going on. Were you in some sort of trouble?

“H-hi,” you said, voice shaking as much as your hand. 

With eyes darting around, you could feel your pulse pick up. This was a new situation, something you were not used to. It felt more ominous to have the guards waiting for you outside while Bruce talked to you, rather than having them be in the room along with you. Now they truly felt like guards, keeping you locked in and away. 

“Hi,” Bruce said with a smile, comforting you a little bit if you were honest. “I was just waiting for you to finish in the bathroom.” 

“Oh, I-I... I just thought that—” 

“Hey, Harper, it’s okay,” Bruce interrupted, hearing the stuttering hesitation of your voice. “You’re allowed to go to the bathroom.” 

Bruce waited a minute, smiling kindly at you to try and reassure you that you had done nothing wrong. Yes, it was a prison, but the inmates were allowed to relieve themselves. 

“Officer Rogers and Barnes came down to tell me that your counsellor, Healy, wanted to see us. That’s-that’s why they’re here,” Bruce said and threw a glance over his shoulder at the officer still patiently waiting. 

“Us?” you asked, Bruce drawing all of your attention. 

He looked back at you and clamped his hands together before him as he spoke. 

“Yes, apparently he wanted to see me as well. Apparently he had some questions regarding you that he thought I might be able to answer. Probably just medical stuff, though. Nothing to worry about.”

Worrying about things was what you did best. There wasn’t a moment where worry wasn’t at least part of your emotional chart, twisting your thoughts into puddles of concern and fear of the outcome. So it was easier said than done not to worry. 

“Oh, uhm, o-okay,” you said, looking over at the lines connecting you to the rod. 

Bruce followed your line of sight, and walked up to you before you could even say another word, or ask about it. 

“Let’s get that off ya,” he said, and twisted all the locks to shut and started unhooking you from the lines. “There we are.”

It felt even more freeing to be without the tubes as well. There was nothing clinging to you, nothing holding you back, or attached to your body. It was a mocking mime of freedom in a reality completely robbed of it. 

You followed behind Bruce, who unlocked the door to the hallway where the officers were patiently waiting, and stepped out. He greeted them with a raise of his brows, probably having already exchanged pleasantries. You swallowed dryly, looking up at the two men who were both almost a head taller than Bruce, standing there with their hands on their belts. Their shoulders were sagged down, their faces calm and relaxed looking, but you knew that could change in a heartbeat. And seeing how close their hands were to all their weapons, you yourself could very much not relax. You doubted they would do anything to you around Bruce, but they were still correctional officers who had a right to... _correct_ you should they feel the need to. 

“Ready?” Steve asked, looking down at you with a smile. 

You nodded frantically, keeping your gaze lowered and tugged at the sleeve of your shirt to cover the vein catheter, fingers fidgeting. 

“Ye-yes, sir.” 

“Let’s go,” Bucky said, also a soft smile on his face, and they both turned around and started walking towards the general area. 

You walked behind Steve, feeling his body and shadow engulf yours as you matched your steps with his. Bruce walked beside him, and Bucky behind him, meaning right next to you. You felt caged in in their presence. Bucky was so close you could feel the heat of his body resonate strongly, as well as his gaze from time to time. He let his arms hang, and you were more than aware of the closeness of his hands. It wouldn’t take much to ‘accidentally’ brush against you, which was exactly what happened. 

As soon as the warmth of his skin met yours, as soon as the hard knuckles of his fingers brushed against the back of your hand, a soft gasp fell from your mouth, feeling as if you had been zapped. It didn’t hurt. It wasn’t like his touches had been in the past where it was all violence and strength meeting your soft and subservient contrast, but there was an assertion there that felt very much the same as it always had. Like the touch hadn’t been accidental. Like he meant to do it. 

Bucky refrained from smiling, forced his mouth not to curve up like it very much wanted to when he had felt that spark of warmth at your skin connecting. He fought to keep himself from doing it again, just to feel that soft touch, to hear that quiet gasp fall from your lips one more time just from him touching you. He saw you twitching out of the corner of his eye, fighting hard to not withdraw yourself completely. And it just made him want to pull you closer to him, hold you and comfort you even more. 

Bruce hadn’t noticed the touch or heard you startled gasp, but Steve had, knowing what must have caused it. He himself wouldn’t mind getting to feel your warm skin against his own, be the one to make you release those soft noises. But he enjoyed the sound of it all nonetheless, smiling slightly to himself, knowing you wouldn’t see it. It sent almost electric shocks to his mind and body just to hear it. It was so familiar, so homey. 

The loudness of the prison was not something you had missed. People were talking, laughing, arguing and everything in between, raising their voices to be heard over everyone else. You seemed to go relatively unnoticed in the company of the men, hidden in the tall shadows of their bodies, something you thanked your lucky star for. Attention was not something that was high on your Christmas list.

You arrived at Mr. Healy’s office, Steve knocked a few times before opening the door and let Bruce through, with you and Bucky in tow. You shied away when you went to pass him, feeling the intense energy from both men surrounding you enough to make your shoulders scrunch up and arms hug around your body in a calming self-embrace. 

“Ah, gentlemen,” Healy said from where he was seated by his desk when Steve opened the door and let everyone through. 

You were caught in the train of men, the two officers towering over you and making you shrink away even more. Apparently enough for Mr. Healy not to spot you straight away, but once he did, he acknowledged you too. 

“Harper,” he said and held an arm out towards the chairs. “Please, sit. You too, Banner.” 

Bruce took the seat furthest in, leaving you closest to the two officers standing by the door, effectively blocking the exit. Not that you would even attempt to leave without permission, but the reason for their presence was very much loud and clear should a thought of doing otherwise occur. 

“So,” Healy said and removed the glasses from his face, smiling at you. “How are you feeling?” 

Oh, great. This question again. Did they really think that anyone would actually answer that question honestly? This was prison. A place where any sign of weakness renders you helpless. A place where officers abuses inmates, and there’s more harm done than good. As if anyone dared to say anything. 

“I’m fine, sir,” you said, voice as stable as ever given how much practice you’d had saying those very words. 

Healy smiled. 

“Good, that’s good. I understand things have been a little difficult for you here at Litchfield.”

Now that was the understatement of the year. If by difficult he meant being pushed down stairs, harassed, beaten, raped, stabbed and having every other inmate turn on you, then yes, things had been a little difficult. 

“Now,” Healy said, planting his folded hands on the table. “I am aware of the... attempt on your own life, as well as the other inmates being hard on you, and I’ve brought you here to discuss this situation.” 

Steve and Bucky both felt uncomfortable and self-conscious where they stood, not wanting to hear any more of your hardships or see the results of their actions. They had only recently managed to escape it, turning the table and seeing things in another light. And now it was sitting right in front of them, literally, and spoken about with such crassness, like the sensitivity of the matter wasn’t at all taken into consideration. 

“It is not uncommon for these inmates to take advantage when they see an opportunity,” Healy said. “And I can see, from the bruises on your face, that you’ve had a bit of misfortune, haven’t you?” 

If he hadn’t taken a pause, you wouldn’t have thought to answer such an obvious statement, because that’s what it was. It wasn’t really a question, he had even answered himself when speaking. 

“Yes, sir,” you said, making sure to keep your eyes set forward, and not glance over at the officers, or give away what was really on your mind. 

Healy hummed, and nodded his head a few times. He gave Bruce a small smile, mutely telling him that he would soon ask him a few questions as well. 

“And, did you receive any pain medication for these wounds?” 

Well, not the wounds he had pointed out, but he didn’t seem to be the type of man you blatantly correct, so you just slipped it into your answer. 

“F-for my wrist, sir, y-yes.” 

Again, Healy hummed in response, not noticing officer Barnes shifting his weight from one foot to the other when you mentioned your wrist. Steve threw a concerned look sideways to his friend, followed by a gentle and reassuring smile. It had been an accident, it was okay. 

“Morphine, was it?” Healy asked, glancing over at Bruce for clarity. 

“Yes, twice a day,” Bruce informed him. 

“Twice a day... that can add up quite a bit, can’t it?” 

You could see where he was going with it, as could the other men in the room. Although Steve and Bucky were preoccupied with the feeling of relief at the mention of the painkillers, relieved at the reminder of the help you had received to make you better. But Bruce jumped in, feeling the need to correct Healy, thinking maybe he had misunderstood the words ‘suicide by morphine overdose’. 

“She-she didn’t use the pills for... that. She overdosed on liquid morphine given through an IV.” 

But Healy just nodded. 

“Yes, yes, I’m aware. I’m simply trying to understand the situation a bit better. ‘Cause these inmates have been on your case quite a bit, and we all know we have all sorts of criminals staying here, some drug addicts included. What I’m asking is... did you hurt yourself on purpose to get drugs?” 

Bruce and the officers felt like they wanted to slap Healy across the face for making up such accusations. Bruce himself knew enough to know when a person was faking injuries, making up stories, or hurting themselves for that matter. And Steve and Bucky, well... They knew first hand that you had in fact not done it to yourself. They, amongst others, were responsible for your injuries, and your need for pain suppressants. 

A familiar pressure built in your chest, the feeling almost constant, merely fluctuating in size. It was hurt, disappointment and grief all mixed into one tight ball of suffocating anxiety. Again, you were blamed for what had happened to you. Again, you were not believed when telling the truth, the situation not seen or believed in its true light. It was one of the most painful and hurtful feelings you knew, and it always seemed to come back. There was always someone who didn’t believe you, or saw the situation for what it really was. 

“No, sir...” you almost whispered, looking down at the floor instead of his desk, lowering your eyes in submission. 

Bruce wasn’t comfortable with you being grilled in such a manner, finding he had little patience for such insolence. He rarely got riled up or upset, but he would not stand for people kicking someone who was already down. 

“Her injuries have clearly been done _to_ her,” he said. “There’s no indication of Harper doing anything to enhance any of it, and she has never once asked for any pain medication. She walked around with a broken wrist for days without speaking up, so I doubt a want for drugs is what caused any of this to happen.” 

“You’re saying she walked around for days with a broken bone?” Healy asked for clarification. 

“Yes.” 

Healy hummed again, looking back over at you where you sat hunched over, making yourself as small as you could, hoping to go unnoticed. You just wanted to slip through the floor and into the earth, disappearing forever. The pressure in your chest just kept growing, knowing you were not going to be believed, no matter what you said, that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. 

“So, you have a high threshold for pain, do ya?”

Bucky was starting to get agitated at the careless tone of Healy’s voice, clearly not caring about any emotional damaged done to you in the process. He balled his fists up, clenching and unclenching before crossing his arms over his chest to have something to press down on. 

“Yes, sir,” you admitted shamefully, flashes of memory resurfacing at the mention. 

You had withstood more than most people could, felt the tugs of pain all over your body as people tore pieces from you, sometimes literally even. The mild pain suppressants you could get a hold of on the outside without raising suspicion had done nothing to numb the pain of having flesh carved from your belly, or dull the aches that always followed rape. You had given up the thought of any help to ease the pains of living.

“Did you give the drugs away to someone else?” Healy asked, pushing for an answer, oblivious to your deteriorating emotional state. 

In the moment of silence before you could even open your mouth, hoping some sound would even come out, Bruce jumped in again. 

“I checked every time I gave her the pills,” he said, his voice starting to become harder as he grew more impatient. 

Healy nodded at the information, though not believing that to really be an answer. He knew there were ways to fool the medical staff. 

“Did you cheek ‘em?” Healy asked, eyes set on you. “The pills?” 

You swallowed dryly. Everything just kept piling on, your mistakes becoming evident the more your counsellor spoke. This was bad. You had done something you were not supposed to do, you had broken the rules. You had kept it from the officers in hopes of no one finding out about it, hoped that you would manage to keep it a secret and not get yourself or any others in trouble, yet here you were. 

Your lack of response made Steve and Bucky worried. You looked conflicted, torn between what was the right answer, and the honest answer. Their minds started rummaging through the facts they had, trying to find the answer themselves as they waited for you to say anything.

“It’s okay, you can tell me,” Healy said, trying to sound comforting. “Did someone ask you to do that?” 

You needed to give them something. A particle of the truth might not be so bad in the end. Perhaps that would help him believe. Perhaps that would save you from having to give away too much. So, you nodded your head. 

You heard the tight intake of breath around the room, felt the tension grow along with disappointment. You could even see the officers tensing up where they stood at your side, and you realized that you had made the wrong decision, you had focused on the wrong person’s approval. They were disappointed in you. They could punish you for this. Oh, no. 

“Who?” Healy pushed, placing his glasses back on and preparing his pen and paper. 

No, no, you couldn’t say. If you did, Doggett would come for you, and the officers would punish you even worse for keeping the information from them. If anyone was to decide what you could and could not do with the drugs being given, the opportunities for any favours being done through that, it was them. And you had taken that away from them. You had defied them, and that was the worst part. 

“I... I can’t say, sir,” you said, voice barely above a whisper as you thought carefully about your words. 

“Of course, you can,” Healy pointed out. “Who was it?”

He didn’t understand. He should, but he didn’t. He himself had mentioned the variety of criminals living here, and should know the dangers of snitching. You had already been called a snitch under false pretences, you were not about to give that any leverage. 

“I can’t s-say...” 

Your voice was starting to betray you, the sound of tears stuck in your throat becoming clearer the more you said, which wasn’t much. You couldn’t give the information to Healy. You knew you had messed up in not telling Steve or Bucky, but telling Healy would continue your defiance towards them. If you were going to tell anyone, it was them. 

Steve felt a pang of guilt tug at his stomach. That goddamned door must have been opened and let it all back out. Only this time, it hit even harder. This time, it was post dirty jokes and chats with Bucky regarding the time spent with you, talking about you in ways you did not deserve. This time, he had been protecting himself more than you, caring more about soothing his own feelings rather than yours. 

Bucky was no better, feeling the disappointment in himself grow, the feelings of failure growing with it. Again, it was crystal clear just how much they had taken advantage of you, how much they had hurt you. This was a product of their making. And just like Steve, hearing this, more pieces of the puzzle becoming clear after they had escaped their smothering emotions by talking about you in such a crass, romantical and even sexual ways, was causing a hurricane of self-loathing and misery to course through him. And you were forced to sit there, in that chair and be almost shamed for trying to stay alive, trying to please everyone and save yourself from being hurt again.

Healy on the other hand, was more annoyed than anything else, sighing loudly through his nose, his jaw clenching a bit from the irritation. 

“You need to protect yourself, not them.”

He still didn’t understand. It was quite evident for the rest of the people in the room, but not him. Even Bruce knew why you didn’t dare to say, he had seen the way the inmates treated snitches. 

“I-I’m trying,” you said, voice hushed and low. 

“How is this helping you?” Healy asked, leaning forward on his arms. 

You didn’t mean to be rude, or try to make him feel like he didn’t understand, but he clearly didn’t. You just wanted to keep from being hurt, keep from making anyone even madder at you than they already were. 

You took a breath, hoping it would resonate deep but it ended up being as shallow as always when fear was growing. But you found your voice nonetheless. 

“If I-I say... they’ll be in t-trouble...” you took a breath, finding the strength. “And it’ll be all my f-fault.”

Bucky and Steve looked on, wondering how they could have missed something as vital as this. They knew the heat coming from the inmates, as well as what they themselves had done to you. They knew how much you were hurting. And they had missed this. Someone had threatened you, made you give up what little support you had to help deal with the pain and cope, and you had done it. They had been relieved once you were given pain medication, thinking your pain was eased and that you would be okay, but someone had taken that away from you. You had continued hurting, and they hadn’t seen it. 

“They won’t be in trouble,” Healy said, trying to get you to spill the beans, and make his job a lot easier. 

He was really bad at his job. Like, really bad. He didn’t understand, he didn’t see. He didn’t even try to listen, he just went on his own course and tried to get whatever he wanted or needed, with no care for how it affected someone else. And he was blatantly lying as well. 

“Of course they will,” you said, your own patience for mistrust running thin. “If I say w-who it was, and tell you t-that they did s-something they weren’t supposed to... they’ll be in trouble. And that means... I’ll b-be i-in t-trouble.” 

Healy sighed, leaning back in his chair, disappointed. He wanted you to give him answers, not sit across from him looking like a scared little mouse who wouldn’t open her mouth out of fear of the other inmates, instead of out of respect for the justice system. He was your counsellor, he was the one you were supposed to come to when you needed help, and you wouldn’t help yourself. 

“So, you refuse to tell me who you gave the drugs to? Is that what you’re saying?” he asked, voice laced with discontent.

You never wanted to misbehave, or not do as you were told, but Healy was not high on the list of people you feared at the moment. There was literally a limitless list of inmates who could do more physical harm to you before he even got the chance to reprimand them for it, and the correctional officers beat even that. They had the law on their side. It was their job to make sure the inmates all fell in line, did as they were told and made them follow orders. Steve and Bucky could do more than anyone, including Healy, and they might even be scheming said punishment at the moment for all you knew, their disappointment in you growing along with Healy’s. 

“Yes, s-sir...” you whispered, feeling like you were digging your own grave no matter what you said. 

Healy nodded and sighed. 

“You do know that selling drugs violates federal law, don’t you?” 

Your jaw quivered as your eyes brimmed with tears. You knew very well how this all looked, how bad it could become for you. You knew what he was threatening to do. But added time, an extra sentence while very much still incarcerated was not the worst that could happen. Though you feared the added opportunity for everyone else to get to you, and the extra time spent in officer Barnes’ and Rogers’ care. But that sorrow would be dealt with that day.

“Yes, s-sir,” you said, feeling a tear threaten to fall. 

Steve had had enough. He didn’t want to just stand there anymore, watching Healy slowly break you down even more. His job was to guard you, and that’s exactly what he was doing. 

“With all due respect, but I don’t think Harper did this by choice,” he said, standing strong. 

Bucky raised his chin a bit, showing Healy that he was on Steve’s side. Healy looked from one officer to the other, taking in their posture, showing no sign of backing down or having any trouble facing the consequences.

“You don’t?” he asked. 

“No,” Steve said simply, pointedly not adding an honorific at the end like he normally would. 

“You think that inmate Harper violating not only prison rules, but federal laws, was not done by her choice? Even though both of you have handed in several forms as proof of her misconduct, handing out shots for poor behaviour.” 

They could both hear what Healy was trying to get at, what he was trying to do, but that did not work with either of them. 

“As is our job,” Bucky said. “And it’s also our job to know these inmates. _Sir_ ,” he added with a spiteful tone, watching Healy’s face drop a tad at the insulting tone. 

Why the officers were defending you, you couldn’t understand. Why they didn’t just stand idly by and let Mr. Healy break you down was beyond you. You knew better than to trust it, but you also knew to be grateful for any sympathy shown in front of other people, and kept it in the back of your mind to thank the officers later, no matter their reason. Perhaps it simply didn’t fit with their agenda, or what they themselves planned to do to you as a form of penalty for not telling them about the drugs. 

Healy watched you where you sat, a slight tremble coursing through you as the men had spoken over your head. You looked uncomfortable, unsure. You didn’t seem relieved or tenser from the opinions of the officers, you simply just sat there. Waiting. 

“Well, then,” Healy said, leaning back over his desk to point his focus on you. “If you won’t tell me, and the officers here seem on the fence about the root of the matter, then there’s nothing I can do for you. Move her down to seg.”

Your eyes shot up with a soft gasp, meeting the determination of Mr. Healy’s as he slumped back in his seat, looking more than pleased with his decision. Isolation. _Real_ isolation. With concrete, screaming, cold. With nothing but four walls, all hard and bright with the never-ending screams from the people around. Maybe even your screams. You couldn’t take that. Not now. Not after everything that’s happened. No! 

“What?” Bucky all but spat out. “You can’t do that.” 

Steve and Bucky both knew that moving you down to the SHU was a death sentence. With nothing and no one around, you would slip into madness or lose your grip on the world as is, rendering you nothing but an empty shell of who you once were. They should know, they had seen it happen. And they themselves had been a part of slowly grinding you down to the bone, something they were desperately trying to make up for and keep from happening.

Healy sighed, yet again, starting to become fed up with the antics of the officers, clearly not knowing their place. 

“Look, obviously she can’t be trusted in medical and since things are... complicated, she’s better off in seg,” Healy said as his form of explanation. 

“She’s suicidal,” Steve countered, just as Bruce was about to point out the same thing. 

“She won’t have access to anything in seg.”

As if that fixed the problem. If anything, it might even make things worse. There would be nothing available to you, nothing to blur your mind from the inevitable pain residing there, nothing to keep you occupied or on track. If they sent you down there, you would die.

“You can’t punish her for trying to kill herself, Healy,” Steve continued. “She’s unstable, and a high risk. If we move her down to seg, she’ll die.”

The more the officers tried to keep you from going down to SHU, the more worried you became. Were they doing it simply because it would inconvenience them, put you too far away from them? They had payed you a visit the last time you were there, but not for a couple of days. The other few days of liberty away from them, they had been off work. Now they would have the opportunity taken from them, and you feared their reaction to that. 

You sat there, staring at the floor with tears threatening to fall at any moment. Your body had tensed up, your hands pressed between your knees as you waited to see what the decision would be; seg or back to medical? 

“It’s the required course of action after everything that has happened, you know that, Rogers,” Healy said, trying to sound assertive, not taking the insubordination all that well. 

Before he could go on, stating useless facts of inhumane methods, Bruce cut in. 

“I understand that you have your protocol, I really do, but Harper’s situation is not a usual one, therefore it cannot be handled the usual way. There are multiple things to consider, and her mental state is of utmost importance, we should all agree on that.”

Bruce said ‘should’ since Healy was clearly not on the same page. Counsellor Healy was a paper-pusher; he clocked in, he clocked out and in between he would rather not be bothered. 

“If you will not allow her to stay in medical, my recommendation is to put her back in gen pop. Perhaps with extra surveillance just to make sure she’s alright?” Bruce said, knowing he was speaking with logic and common sense, unlike Healy, who just sighed again. 

“We don’t have the staff to put Harper under any extra supervision more than any other inmate, and keeping her in medical simply costs too much and is too much of a risk,” he said, hoping to end the conversation with that. 

“We’ll work the extra hours,” Bucky said, raising a daring eyebrow at Healy where he sat. “She should be getting her date in court soon enough, wouldn’t be too much to ask that she actually gets there, would it?” 

You could hear the tightness of officer Barnes’ voice, hearing his irritation build. His energy was resonating strongly, making you want to recoil from him, as well as Steve who was stood beside him, brooding all the same. You subconsciously leaned closer towards Bruce, the only man not reeking of anger, more of something closer to disappointment, but you didn’t feel like it was directed at you. 

“Besides,” Steve chimed in before Healy could start arguing with Bucky. “We have the last say about what happens with inmate Harper.” 

What? What did that mean, last say? Healy was their superior, and so was Caputo, and several other people most likely, how could they have last say when it came to you? Did they somehow have control over you, more than they already had before by simply being guards in charge of an inmate? Wasn’t it enough that officer Barnes had already offered to work extra hours, _for you_ , meaning they would be close by at all times? 

Healy’s face turned red, his eyes setting harshly on the two officers standing inside his office, having the nerve to speak to him in such a tone. They should know their place, and his anger regarding the opposite read strongly on his face. You cowered back as Mr. Healy started barking back at Steve and Bucky, who both looked calm and collected where they stood, expecting his reaction.

“If you think that I will sit idly by while two lower ranking officers, with such insubordinate attitudes try to call the shots over my head, then—”

“Oh, I know you will,” Bucky said, cutting him off midsentence. “’Cause it came from the higher-ups, meaning _your_ superiors. And their word trumps yours, therefore our word trumps yours. What we say goes.” 

The smugness was loud and clear in his voice, evidently enjoying the moment of getting to step up and over Healy, and his not so gracious response to that might just have made it ever more enjoyable. But all you could hear was _‘what we say goes’_.

They were in control of you. They had been given the opportunity to completely have you under their authority, have everyone answer to them when it regarded you. You were very much under their rule, as if you hadn’t always been. But the rules of which _they_ had been under before, the obstacles that had been put in their path to keep them at a safe distance had now been removed. Instead, a pathway was paved before them, leading them directly to you with no one standing in their way. They had probably gotten a pat on the back for it even. 

There was nothing standing in their way now, nothing to keep them away. Now, they were the ones who had the responsibility to not only care for you, but discipline you, handle you, without any input from their fellow officers should they step out of line. Their judgement could and would not be questioned. 

You weren’t sure what all this meant. What it meant for you, for your situation, or your future. Would they keep people away from you? Would they have their own rules to set that you had to follow? You didn’t know, and you’d rather not find out. But you had to, in order to stay safe. You had to know what the new rules where, you had to apologize for keeping the drug deal from them, as well as thank them for their interruption when Mr. Healy was coming down on you too hard. There were so many things to keep track of, and no one to intervene if they were to turn up the heat. 

“Good,” Steve said, breaking the more than tense silence, as well as making you jump in your seat. “So it’s settled then, Harper goes back to gen pop. We’ll keep an eye on her and make sure the other officers do the same in our absence, deescalate any situation should it arise, and if there’s any problem... we’ll take care of it.” 

“Sounds good,” Bruce said beside you, giving both Steve and Bucky a smile. 

Bruce was relieved to learn that you now had the two officers on your side, as well as his, overruling even Healy. He felt comfortable knowing that they had your back, and wanted what was best for you. And being given the go-ahead to take charge meant that they could override people who didn’t have your best interest in mind, or who simply got their panties in a twist when not getting their way. 

Healy didn’t like being vetoed by inferior officers, which is what he saw Bucky and Steve as, in more ways than simple rank, despite knowing of their honourable service in the forces. He’d always had respect for them, a slight uncertain fear even if he was really being honest, but this was his office, his domain. Now he thought them rash and power-hungry with inflated egos, and he refused to see it any other way. He felt like they were both doing this out of spite, simply because they could. And he did not like it one bit. But sadly, Healy not liking it did not make it any less true. Caputo had given the clear for Barnes and Rogers to take the lead on you and your case, he had heard it from the man himself so there was no denying it. 

“Fine,” he said through a noticeably irritated sigh. “You do what you think is best. I wash my hands of her.”

Again, you were talked about like property, like a possession to be handed from one man to the next. You supposed it wasn’t really personal in this case, it was most likely the way most inmates felt like when their power was stripped of them and they were left in the care of others. But to quite literally be handed over to officers Rogers and Barnes felt like a nail in the coffin. 

“Thank you,” Bucky said, the sarcasm lost on Healy. 

Bucky turned around to open the door while Steve approached you to beckon you to rise from the chair. The entire time you had been sitting quietly in your seat, a slight tremble travelling up your spine from time to time due to the nature of the conversation, or the crassness of certain words. You were a mere pawn, moved about as your master saw fit. And now that master was Steve and Bucky, and they wanted you to move. 

You got up, Bruce doing the same and keeping somewhat close to you, for which you were grateful. It created a small barrier between the other men, even though they were the ones calling the shots. Bucky held the door open, the noise of the corridor filling the room as he took a step back and allowed you to go through. 

As she was casually and actually minding her own business walking from one corridor to another to get to the rec room, Doggett spotted you for the first time in a long time. You came from Mr. Healy’s office, officer Barnes and Rogers in tow, along with nurse Banner. Your head was somewhat down, your posture showing weakness per usual, probably feeling ashamed for telling whatever secrets and lies you had undoubtedly revealed to gain power and footing, twisting them all around your little finger. 

Tiffany hid herself slightly behind a wall as she kept watching, first seeing Banner lead you to the nurse’s window and removed something from your hand before putting something on it. She couldn’t see what it was clearly, but she guessed it was a band-aid. The nurse then said something to you, to which you smiled gently and nodded, before he turned on his heel and nodded to the officers and walked away. 

So... you were back up it seemed. The lost sheep returned to the 99. With your hunky officers at your side as always. She remembered officer Rogers’ words, remembered the threats he had made. But the man was clearly unfair in his treatment and judgement, even participating in your little tattletale-meetings where you spilled God knows what. Whatever she had had in mind before, you deserved more than ever. And Pennsatucky knew that there were ways to get to someone without an officer seeing, therefore having no proof. And she was not alone with having motives after all. 

The Latinas had plenty of reason to come for you after you had set guards to trash their bunks, threaten their population and plant shit in their bunks. The ghetto had been raided and robbed of several things due to your shit-talking to the COs, making up stories and lies to fuck with everybody, sending people off to SHU. And everybody knew it was your doing. Little Miss Perfect for whoever gave you the time of day, when in reality you were a she-devil in disguise, hiding behind a soft and scared exterior to fool everybody. You didn’t even try to hide it, walking out of Mr. Healy’s office all innocent looking, like you hadn’t just fucked everyone over. 

Whenever there was a problem, the inmates knew you were the cause of it. All cozied on up with the COs like that, you were bound to do some talking, asking them for favours and making them turn everyone’s bunks inside out even more than they usually did, sneak attacks from left and right. Inmates knew there were corrupt guards for whatever favours one might be after, and they knew the payment they demanded in return; fuck or snitch. And you apparently had no problem doing both, perhaps even paying for a fuck with information, touch-starved like the whore you were. 

No, Doggett was not alone in her thoughts, or her plans most likely. There were plenty of suspects should something bad happen to you, officer Rogers would never know for sure, despite his threats. He might have his suspicions, but it was Aleida Diaz who had stabbed you, so... All he could ever really do was guess, as well as the other COs when it came down to it. 

Doggett walked away before she was spotted, a plan hatching in what was left of her foggy druggie mind, putting a pep in her step and widening her grin. Oh, Christmas seemed to have come early this year, Jesus blessing her with a gift all for her. And she knew just the right place to unwrap it. All she had to do was wait for the moment to present itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this deserves a dunt-dunt-duh! ;) 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please leave me a comment down below and tell me your thoughts, feelings and hopes and dreams! There is nothing that beats all of your lovely comments <3


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jess tries to show her gratitude... 
> 
> And the bathroom is not all that safe it seems...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Blood, cutting, mentions of oral sex

Bucky had brought you back to your dorm, checking your cube for contraband or anything that might have been planted there before you were allowed to step inside. And as you stood there waiting by the dividing wall, you felt not so friendly eyes burn into your back, and heard the mumbles of the other women. Most were about you in general or how you looked, some about what had happened with Aleida Diaz and the reason for it, which varied a lot depending on who told the story. You on the other hand, were still quite left in the dark about the whole ordeal, not understanding where she had gotten the idea of you having anything to do with what happened in the Spanish dorm. But if the chattering and tattling were anything to go by, you had done various things to earn a stabbing from an angry momma bear. 

You also heard some of the inmates point out that the CO was in fact checking your bunk like he would anyone else’s, even if he perhaps was a little bit neater about it. There weren’t any throwing or ruining things, but he didn’t exactly clean up the mess that came of it either. 

“Clear,” Bucky said, loud enough for the whole room to hear. 

He stood up again after being crouched down to go through your locker and bedding, looking around to see his creation. It wasn’t all that messy, but perhaps he should have done more. He was trying to keep up appearances and not raise any red flags for the inmates. He understood how every single detail counted when it came to these women; they were looking for reasons to beat on you, and he for one did not want to be the one to give them any. 

He walked over to you, his posture hunched and unthreatening, trying not to intimidate you. But his eyes scanned the rest of the dorm, throwing daggers at anyone looking at either him or you the wrong way, sending people scurrying. He looked down at you, bending his head slightly to speak to you, and you alone. Though he didn’t miss the flinch and tension in your shoulders as he leaned closer. 

“Stay in your bunk until lunchtime, okay? I’ll be in the bubble, keeping an eye out for any trouble,” he said, trying to speak as gently as he could and not command anything.

If there was one thing that was easy to follow, it was an order, and he had made a simple one. ‘Stay in your bunk’. Okay, you could easily do that. You just hoped the other inmates wouldn’t take it as an invite to join you. 

“Yes, sir,” you said, head bowed down and eyes on the floor. 

Bucky couldn’t deny the slight tinge of arousal at your compliance, but at the same time he had tried to not order you into submission. Although, it seemed to be a constant state for you. He didn’t hate it, absolutely not, but he didn’t feel all that okay with enjoying it either. So he gave you a simple nod, and walked around you, but he couldn’t help but nudge his shoulder into yours just to feel your touch. You shrunk away from it, keeping the gasp that wanted to spill from doing so, and hurried over to your bunk where you sat, still as a mouse caught in a trap, until lunch. 

The daggers officer Barnes had cast were being thrown right back at you. Inmates passed your bunk more times than necessary, but thankfully, none walked inside or tried to talk to you. But you could do without their scowling faces, or raised fingers, which appeared here and there. You couldn’t ease any tension in your muscles, or calm your racing heart to save your life, but as the minutes and hours ticked by and nothing happened, you started to trust that it wouldn’t, at least not before lunch. 

You looked down at the small band-aid on your hand, amazed at how soft it felt compared to the vein catheter which had previously been placed in the same spot. Bruce had reassured you that you could always come talk to him should you need to, and that he was still going to give you painkillers to help with the pain, albeit something not as potent or sought after. You didn’t know for sure, but you thought that he might feel somewhat responsible for what had happened. After all, he was the one who gave you the pills to begin with, and apparently didn’t check you well enough, and you hated that he might feel that way, because it wasn’t his fault at all. But his kindness was welcomed, and you hoped it eased his own worries as well. 

Bruce had also asked that you tell the officers who it was that made you give the pills up in the first place, trying to convince you that they were only trying to help you. Bucky hadn’t said anything when he brought you back to the dorm, but you felt it was an inevitable question nonetheless. 

How should you go about that? You still hadn’t had the private opportunity to apologize for not telling them the truth about the drugs, and you certainly hadn’t thanked them properly for stepping in with Healy. Perhaps you should start there. 

The dorm was somewhat vacant, as it always was when feeding time was approaching, only a few inmates casually lazing about in their bunks. You moved your feet from under your body, and placed them on the matrass to stand up. You leaned on the wall a bit, even though the matrass was in no way soft enough to throw you off balance, and peeked your head over the dividing wall to see if officer Barnes was still in the bubble. You saw him moving some things about on the desk by the window, and you ducked back down before he could spot you, his head already turning to keep a watchful eye out. 

You sat back down, contemplating your next move. The dorm was emptying, lunch was fast approaching. The officer had said that he wanted to keep an eye out for you, and if you were to approach him now, you hopefully wouldn’t disturb him too much in his work. You didn’t want to inconvenience him in any way, paying off gratitude only to be stuck with an apology. You looked up at the clock on the wall; you had some time. 

A tightness grew in your chest, your breathing becoming shallower once more as you were pushing through with your plan. Muscles tensed up, the familiar ache back in your shoulders from always being so scrunched up, but it would not deter you. You knew what you needed to do. So you stood on shaky legs, and shuffled around the wall. 

Bucky eyed the room every few seconds or so, keeping a vigilant eye out for any trouble coming your way, but since the majority of the population had already started to draw near the cafeteria, the threats were becoming fewer and fewer. What surprised him though was seeing you coming around the corner of your cube, and slowly walking up to the bubble with a few unsure gazes shot his way as you approached. He rose from his chair when he saw you take a turn for the door to the bubble, and all but leaped over to open it. 

You were startled as the door came swinging open in your face without even as much as a knock, showing the tall officer Barnes blocking the entry with his body, his hand still holding onto the door. He looked down at you with a few worried lines between his brows, eyes darting out into the rest of the room to make sure no one was trying anything. 

“Jess?” he said, making you flinch where you stood. “Are you alright?” 

You fiddled with your fingers, fidgeting with the sleeve of your hoodie to keep the anxiety at bay. As if every anxious thought could be channelled into the simple twist of fabric in your hands. 

“Ye-yes, sir,” you said, clearing your throat. “I... M-may I come in, sir?” 

Bucky didn’t know what to make of the situation, but he was not about to deny you entry, or refuse you should you feel uncomfortable in the dorm. Had he perhaps missed something despite his constant watch? Had someone threatened you when he wasn’t looking? Whatever the reason may be, you wanted to step inside and he was not about to argue. 

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he said, and took a step back to allow you inside. 

He was still holding on to the door, leaving you with no other choice but to squeeze passed him the best you could, hoping you wouldn’t bump into him. Which was a ridiculous thought given what you were about to do. 

“Thank you, s-sir,” you managed to squeak out as you passed him. 

Bucky closed the door behind you since you had barely taken more than the necessary steps to get inside, and went back to his chair and sat down, looking out across the room to see if he perhaps had missed someone following you. He couldn’t see anyone besides two inmates leaving the dorm and talking amongst themselves, presumably to head to the cafeteria. He looked back to you, finding your head bowed down and eyes downcast, your hands still fidgeting with the sleeve of your shirt. You seemed nervous, a slight tremble even to your frame, and your breathing was rapid and shallow by the looks of it.

“Is something wrong?” Bucky asked in a soft and gentle voice, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. 

You gulped. It was just you and him in the small room. Despite the two doors, it felt like you had nowhere to run. Not that you would get very far should you even try to, but the feeling was only adding to the already suffocating fear slowly taking over. Taking a shaky breath, hoping to calm at least a few nerves by doing so, you opened you mouth to speak. 

“N-no, I-I just... I wanted t-to thank you... for w-what you a-and officer Rogers did f-for me in Mr. Healy’s office...” 

Bucky wasn’t quite sure what you meant, but he remembered you saying something along these lines before, and what you had meant then... But he didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, or make unfair assumptions about you. After all, they had promised not to do anything to hurt you again. They had apologized. You couldn’t possibly mean now what you had meant back then. Could you? 

“Okay...?” he said, waiting for you to continue. 

But you didn’t hear the question mark at the end of the word, instead hearing something completely different.

He had agreed. He had given you the go ahead to proceed with thanking him, and there was nothing to gain from trying to postpone anything. It might just make him agitated if you didn’t execute the deal right away. 

Without looking up at him, you took a small and slow step towards the other door, the one leading out into the hallway, and turned the lock on it with a thudding click. You made sure your movements were slow, so the officer wouldn’t get the idea of you trying to escape or run out on him, as you did the same with the door to the dorm. 

Bucky stayed still in his seat as you went about locking both doors, eyes following every movement you made, slow as they were. You looked terrified, he could swear he saw the glistening of tears in your eyes when your head turned back towards him, without ever meeting his gaze. Before he could ask what was bothering you so much, or why you had locked the doors for simply saying thank you (because this was _not_ going to be a repeat of last time!), you sunk slowly to your knees before him. 

“Wha—?” escaped his mouth as your knees met the floor before him. 

The chair moved back an inch as Bucky was almost startled by your action and closeness, but it was not enough to move him completely away from you, or make his movement seem like it was in any way withdrawing precious permission. Bucky was shocked by your gesture, by your position before him, offering him your gratitude in a physical nature in return for what he and Steve had done. 

And despite his conflicted emotions on the action, one part of him clung to the act of submission, twisting it into something done with consent, taking the initiative of the act as an act of something you wanted. You wanted him. You wanted to feel him in your mouth, show him how grateful you were for his protection. And his body fed those thoughts, and he felt himself grow tighter in his slacks the more he looked down at the top of your bowed head. 

When the officer didn’t say anything, didn’t move back, you took it as a go ahead to proceed. A quivering hand not trapped in a cast met his knee, your frightened exhale felt even through his slacks from the proximity, going straight to his cock as he began to strain in the fabric. Bucky sucked in a breath at the touch, his mind lost of everything that didn’t feed his arousal. 

What the fuck was wrong with him? He should stop this! He didn’t want you to do this out of obligation, out of fear, he really didn’t! But his mind was locked on the possibility of getting to feel your mouth on him, feel the warmth of it wrapped around his cock and _properly thank him_. The vision of you, submissive and compliant to him, _wanting_ to pleasure him, to make him feel good, was something he had fantasized about more times than he could count by now. But there was something about this situation that twisted in his gut, enveloped his heart and constricted his soul into seeing it for what it really was; fear. 

With trembling fingers, you slid your hand further and further up his powerful thigh, feeling the hard lines of muscle underneath the fabric wherever your fingers roamed. The officer subconsciously spread his legs a bit further, beckoning you to complete the travel and finally place your hand over his aching cock and press down. 

But just as your modest fingers grazed the zipper, sending shocks of electricity through his groin, his conscience spilled through the cracks of his mind. His eyes, once blurred with arousal, now saw you with clarity, and Bucky immediately kicked the chair back away from you, succumbing to the tug of guilt pulling at his chest.

You withdrew your hand like he had burned you, tearful eyes shooting up to meet his. Was he angry with you? His eyes read of confusion and shame, but you couldn’t see any anger. But disappointment was hiding in the corners of his eyes. You didn’t understand. He had said ‘okay’, he had given you consent. Why did he move away? Did you do something wrong? Was that not right?

“I-I... I’m s-sorry, s-sir, I thought—” 

Bucky sighed as he shut his eyes, leaning forward again to press the heel of his hands against his temples and fold his fingers together through his hair. He drew breath after breath to fill his body with sanity, ground himself in the shameful moment he had let happen. He should have stopped it before it got this far, before it turned into outright rejection on his part. He should have gotten himself under control, and made things clear the moment you even mentioned thanking him. 

You flinched back when his frustrated sigh hit your ears, feeling inadequate that you couldn’t even get to pleasing him right. Did he not want you to touch him like that? Were you insubordinate in some way? Your mind raced through the last minute, analysing every move you had made, trying to find the fault and make up for it. Surely, there was something you had missed, or done wrong. 

“P-please f-forgive me, sir, I—... I only w-wanted to thank y-you, I’m s-sorry if-if I did something wrong, I can—I can do it better, I promise, sir, please—” 

You rambled and rambled despite the sting of your cut lip as you did, letting the tears finally leave their confinement and slip down the curve of your cheeks as you begged for his forgiveness, for a chance to do better. 

When seeing you like that; on your knees, crying and rambling fearful words of apology when you had done nothing more than what you thought was expected and hoped that it was right, Bucky felt the remorse hit him like a fricking wrecking ball.

How his mind could twist and turn it into something that it clearly wasn’t, felt like a betrayal in itself. Yes, he had fantasized about moments like this, thought about fucking you against every surface of his home and workplace so many times in the past, or have you on your knees between his legs and warming his cock. He had fed those fantasies like his body had fed his mind, yearning for a day when it would come true. But it wouldn’t. Because in front of him was the innocent young woman he had threatened, beaten, harassed and done so many horrible things to, that just the mere thought of them now made him want to hurl. _This_ was the truth, staring up at him with glossy eyes and tear streaked cheeks, begging him to show mercy. And it did not consent to this. 

“Shit, Jess, no—I—” Bucky said softly, interrupting your jabber of forgiveness, which had no place in your mouth. 

He reached out to place a gentle and comforting hand on your cheek, but you misinterpreted his movement as something violent, something painful, and recoiled from him, scooting back whilst still on your knees. 

“P-please, sir, I-I-I’m s-sorry, I-I—” 

Bucky cut you off with a sigh as he nonetheless reached out to cup your cheek in his rough hand, showing you that he meant no harm. You let the touch happen, hoping it would please him if you simply let him do what he wanted.

“Shh, no, no, I’m not gonna hurt you, Jess, I’m not,” he spoke tenderly, caressing your cheek with his thumb to rid of the tears. 

Something had you frozen, still looking up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time in... ever, really. Bucky couldn’t help but stare into those soft blue eyes, understanding why Nichols had decided to call you Baby Blues. Had it not been for the fear, the awaited suffering for disappointing him in your endeavour to do good, your eyes were truly beautiful. You were beautiful. Had it not been for the dreading terror, the tears still swimming in your eyes or the fear wrecking your body still and making you jaw quiver enough to make him worry, the image of you on your knees before him would be something else entirely. Something that fit into his fantasies. 

“I’m the one who should be sorry here,” he said. “I am, I’m sorry, Jess. I... I should’ve known what you meant when you said you wanted to _thank me_ , but...” 

How should he explain that? ‘Sorry, but the idea of having your mouth on me was too enticing for me to pass up, I was about to let you do it so I would know for sure’? Anything besides that would be a lie, or at least partially a lie. But he had stopped himself. He had stopped it before it got too far, before you did something you would regret.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he said instead. “I should have made it clear that _that_... was not something you needed to do to thank me. A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice just fine, alright? And the same goes for Steve. I should’ve made that clear the last time you wanted to—” 

Bucky stopped himself, bringing his free hand up to swipe over his mouth as he thought back on that night, when all he had said was that he wasn’t going to hurt you, and that he was sorry. He felt uncomfortable with using any real terminology about any sexual favours, at least to your face, and that only fed the hypocritical feelings he was already carrying around. How he could talk about you in such ways, joking about with Steve and coming up with different sexual scenarios, but once here, in the moment with you, he couldn’t even bring himself to say the words. 

There was nothing more he wanted than to not see you so utterly terrified. Any time you caught him looking at you, you would shiver and shrink away, and he hated seeing that. Anytime you spoke to him, your voice was shaking and words stumbled out of your mouth. It didn’t fit the fantasy, it didn’t fit his perception of you, it didn’t fit _his feelings for you_. And if he was being really honest with himself, that might be the main reason for wanting you to come out of your shell.

He let his hands drop from both your face as well as his own, and placed them over your shaky ones. The touch made you flinch a bit, and your eyes darted down to where your hands met before coming back up to once again meet his. What compelled you to keep the eye contact you didn’t know, you had never dared to look a man in the eyes like that before, but there was just something so strange about this whole thing that you needed any bit of information you could get. 

This was new territory. At least mostly. Whenever Nate had acted this way, acted sweet or caring, it was because he had eyes on him, or because he was playing a prank which only ever amused him. For you, the ambiguous and contradictory actions only ever served to fool you into feigned security, a false hope of salvation. So why was the officer doing it now? Was it simply a poorly chosen moment? Had you messed up the timing?

“I... I don’t understand...” you whispered, voice tight with tears. “I-I thought that—” 

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Bucky said, caressing your cheek again, only this time you didn’t even try to move away from his touch. “That’s not necessary, Jess. You don’t need to do that to thank us for anything.” 

If sounded so conflicting, so contradictory. There were rules, clear rules on how you should act and what you should do in situations like this, but the officer was making you break them. Did this have something to do with him and Steve now being in charge of you? 

It was strange how these men went from being one type of correctional officers to then being the polar opposite. The way they had touched you in the past was nothing like the way Bucky was touching you now. It felt comforting. It felt nice. At least a part of you thought so. The other part was still doing damage control, weighing risks and making up scenarios in which his touch could become violent or hurtful, and ways to keep that from happening. You felt torn all over again, not knowing whether to be relieved, or keep fearing the man above you. 

You averted your eyes, letting your train of thought finish its trip and hopefully come to some sort of conclusion, or at the very least a plan of action on how to proceed. The officer was still holding your trembling hands in his warm grip, not forcing the touch. You decided to try his words, and started to pull away your hands to see if he would let you. And he did. 

“O-okay,” you said, unsure and still on edge. 

Once you looked up again, Bucky let a gentle smile form on his face, his eyes soft when meeting yours. 

“Okay,” he said, more affirmative yet gentle, and widened his smile. “Wanna try again?” 

He hoped he wasn’t asking too much, he didn’t want to force anything, but he wanted to show you that there was no need for any favours done in order to show gratitude. Even though he felt a bit stupid, because there was no need to thank either him nor Steve for what had happened in Healy’s office, but you apparently thought so. 

You drew a deep breath, eyes darting all over the place, even up at him from time to time. It was hard, but you needed to try his way, even if you didn’t trust it. 

“Th-thank you, s-sir,” you said meekly, still not moving from your position on the floor.

Bucky let out a breath as his smile widened to show teeth even, his smile genuine and kind. When you looked up, you thought he looked just as kind as his smile, but just like his words, you didn’t trust it. 

“You’re welcome,” he said.

He knew it wasn’t much, but it was progress, on both ends. You had hopefully gotten the added confirmation that words were indeed enough, and Bucky, well... He felt himself soften – in more ways than one – and kind of started seeing you in somewhat of a new light. Although, that light meant you came slightly closer to his own idea of you, so maybe the progress on his part wasn’t really that positive when it comes down to it. It just fit the picture better. 

Bucky gradually moved his foot back a bit on the floor, noticing how your eyes shot right to the movement (probably expecting to be kicked, but he chose to ignore that), and pushed his chair back to allow you to get back on your feet. He would offer you his hand, but he felt like that might be pushing it a little. You understood the cue just fine without an outstretched hand, and slowly rose back up to stand before him, wiping away the tears wetting your face with your sleeve. There was still a slight tremble to your body, the anxiousness not entirely gone yet. 

“You alright?” Bucky asked, wanting to make sure you were okay after all that had happened between the two of you. 

He knew he shouldn’t, but his eyes raked up and down your body when your vision was blocked by your own hand. He loved watching you, the curves of your body so precisely right in his mind, so fitting to what he wanted. In his mind, the picture was starting to twist again, moulding everything to fit where he wanted it to. At least it was more adoring and enamoured this time, so he let it. 

You nodded your head, sniffling a bit. 

“Yes, s-sir, I’m f-fine.” 

The shakiness of your voice and the lightness of your tone read of quite the opposite, but Bucky didn’t push. 

“Good,” he said instead and cleared his throat, watching the clock on the wall in the dorm. “It’s lunchtime, and I’ve gotta man the cafeteria along with Steve. You want me to walk you there, or... If you wanna be alone for a second or two, I completely understand.” 

Bucky wanted you to be comfortable, to really take in what he had said and hopefully see him in a different light. He wanted for you to look at him the same way he looked at you, and if giving you a moment would aid that, then he would be more than happy to offer it and comply.

The offer was more than kind, the alone part of it anyway. Any time away from the officers was very much appreciated, and the fact that you didn’t have to lie or try to get out of anything was a relief. And the fact that officer Barnes stayed kind was relieving in its own way too. 

“Actually, sir, I... I t-thought that I might s-shower during lunchtime...” you said, flicking your eyes up to meet his for a second before dropping them again. “There a-are less people then... I-I’ll go to the cafeteria a-after, if that’s okay, sir?” 

Bucky nodded his head back in a nod to indicate his understanding, before rising to his feet. When he did, you stumbled backwards a bit to keep the distance, and a small gasp fell from your lips, expecting some reprimanding for pushing the limits. After all, it would be disobeying a former direct order should you not go to the cafeteria.

Bucky froze for a second, mentally scolding himself for making you flinch like that. And he didn’t miss you questioning tone, still treading carefully to find the right path. He had forgotten the direct order to always be at attendance during meals, but that didn’t mean that you had.

“Sure, yeah” he said, watching your rapid blinking and dry swallow. “Uhm, just... just be careful, alright? I mean, there are COs around, but... yeah, just be careful.” 

You tried to swallow down the lump in your throat, a ball of tears and unspoken words, dreaded questions you didn’t dare ask. You knew what he meant, and you knew why he had said it, but those words always felt threatening no matter the context, no matter their meaning. And the officers weren’t the most unthreatening thing either, but he didn’t seem to understand that. 

“Th-thank you, sir, I-I will.” 

The encounter with the officer spun in your mind like a cotton candy machine on high speed, sticking to everything around. What had happened? There was the initial plan of showing your gratitude with a blowjob like Nate had enforced so many times, and officer Barnes had given you the go ahead to do that, he had said ‘okay’. But then he had pushed you away, saying that it wasn’t necessary. It seemed contradictory no matter how you looked at it, and his reassurance didn’t feel all that reassuring anymore. 

His smile had been kind, his voice had been soft and his touch gentle when he grazed your cheek to wipe away the tears, but your body could not forget the pain that same touch had caused. You could not forget the words spoken, the threats made and orders to obey. This playing field was pulling the rug from beneath you, turning your perception of the dynamic upside-down, and making you question every move you made. 

Would it cost you anything to head to the showers before the cafeteria despite the officer giving the go ahead to do so? He had after all consented to you sucking his cock, but then retracted that and turned everything on its head. Would he do the same in the opposite direction? You desperately needed to shower, and you knew time was of the essence. There were only so many opportunities to wash off without being crowded or threatened while doing so, so you had to stick with the plan. 

You held your shower kit and towel in your arms, the laundry bag full of fresh clothes hanging off of your arm as you hurried through the corridors. The hallways were as vacant as they ever were with such a dense population, and you managed to sneak into the B-dorm bathroom without being spotted by anyone of importance, at least to your knowledge. 

There was no one in there, and probably wouldn’t be for a good ten minutes or so. Setting your things down on the bench before the showers, hidden from view and scrutiny, you prepared everything in the manner that seemed to work best. Your clothes were ready to go at a second’s notice, a new sports bra and shirt were hung on the side of the stall for easy access, as well as your towel. Your kit was placed on the small shelf in the stall, waiting to be used. Everything was ready to go. 

Turning the water on, you made quick work of undressing to just the last layer of your shirts and your panties and stepped in to just where the spray didn’t reach you. You listened for intruders once last time, and when hearing none, you grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, bringing the bra with it. You were careful not to stretch your abdomen too much, or accidentally hit your lip and cause it to start bleeding again. The fabric snagged over your cast, but eventually it came away, and you tossed them out onto the bench. 

Once under the warm and soothing cascade of water, your body finally relaxed the worst of the tension which had etched itself into your muscles. It never truly went away, but the warmth was a welcomed touch in a world which only ever seemed to care roughness. Except for officer Barnes’ touch mere moments ago... 

How could a man who had been so rough, so violent, touch you with such tenderness? It hadn’t been a welcomed touch, you knew you had only stayed still out of fear of upsetting him with cowering away again, but that didn’t change the fact that it had been so different from anything prior. He had been kind. And for what reason? 

You had managed to scrub off with one hand even while lost in thought, and without letting the water stream hit your aching lip. The long-lasting feel of filth after being bedridden for so long with nothing but a sink to wash in, was finally replaced by the feeling of cleanliness and smooth skin. At least as smooth as your skin could ever be. You had gotten as used to the bumps covering your body as you ever could, no longer reflecting on every single mark or its making. 

But of course, trying to keep your cast dry meant that you had no means of covering that horrid word written on your body, so you found your washing of that part was quicker than usual, not wanting to linger on it at all. You washed between your legs in the same manner, mentally chanting comforting words of no harm being done by simple washing, but the worry started to grow nonetheless as the seconds passed. 

While trapped inside your own mental hell, and the drain of the water gurgling by your feet, you failed to hear the approaching patter of footsteps drawing near. Not before your curtain was pulled away did you open your eyes and spin around to face the intruder. Your long-lost friend Pennsatucky, along with Grease Hair. 

“Huh!” you gasped and immediately tried to cover yourself with the towel, protecting the worst of it all. 

Both women just smiled at you, Grease Hair leaning a hand on the wall, but kept her distance. Doggett on the other hand, even put her foot up by the small edge which kept the water in the stall, and leaned against the side of it. 

“Hey, Mousy,” she said through a snaggly grin. 

You pressed the towel against you for dear life, hoping it covered most of your body. The fact that the water was still running and effectively drenching it was not a concern at the moment, you just wanted to keep your body protected. 

Doggett reached a hand into the stall, and you pressed back against the wall. But she didn’t grab the towel like she thought you might, she just turned the knob to cut off the water. 

“Don’t be actin’ all modest,” she said, moving her hand back. “You’re ‘bout as indecent as they come.” 

The quivering of your jaw was making your teeth chatter, and your body wouldn’t stop shaking as you stood there, frozen to the ground, staring at Pennsatucky and Grease Hair alike. 

“What do y-you w-want?” you stuttered, feeling your heart start to race in your chest. 

Your nakedness only spurred the fear on, leaving you feeling defenceless beyond means. There was nothing around to shield you from harm, and the towel was barely hanging in there in protecting your modesty. Thoughts spun in your head, different situations possible popping up like commercials, all ending with you cut open like she had promised. You tried to not pay them any mind, instead focusing on reality, and try to deal with what may come. 

Pennsatucky smiled wickedly, but before she could answer the question, you heard Grease Hair the second speak from the other side of the wall, apparently acting as a lookout. 

“Bathroom’s full, try back later.” 

Your head snapped in her direction, but you could only see her arm as she blocked the entry to the stalls on that side. Whoever she was talking to seemed to get the message, because you heard the noise of someone stomping out of the room with aggravated steps, leaving you to your demise. This was planned, maybe even orchestrated so you would be alone at this exact time. They had a lookout, a bodyguard, and the villain herself. 

Not daring to look away for too long, you focused your gaze on the crazy person in front of you. She was now holding a toothbrush, fiddling with the soft end in her mouth. No amount of brushing would ever ger rid of those Gargamel teeth you thought, but this was not the time for any sass. 

“Please...” you said. “Let-let me dry off a-and we can talk about this, okay? Whatever you want?”

Doggett looked you up and down, eyes catching glimpses of old scars and new bruises not hidden by the towel. She seemed unimpressed, and very much not caring. 

“I don’ wanna talk,” she muttered with the brush in her mouth, eyes still scanning you. 

“Then w-what do you want?” you asked, feeling the weight of her gaze as it travelled the length of your body.

Doggett looked up at your scared face, not caring about the shudder passing through you, and placed her free hand on her knee, leaning forward a bit to pretend to think. 

“What do I want?” she mused. “Hmm...” 

Grease Hair gave you a crooked smile, still blocking part of the stall with her body. She didn’t say anything, probably having been told to play the part of a silent bodyguard should something go awry, and you prayed to god that that wouldn’t be the case. But then again, if things went according to their plan, where did that leave you?

“I want,” Doggett said, startling you slightly. “I want you... to feel the pain that you have caused everyone else with that deal o’ yours with the COs. Although... it looks like someone beat me to it.”

Both Doggett and Grease Hair snickered at the comment, letting their eyes wander to the few exposed scars here and there, as well as the fresh cut and bruise on your face. But you didn’t bother with that, there was nothing you could do to change what your body had already gone through, but you could try to prevent any more from appearing. 

“What deal? There’s no deal, I swear,” you said, hearing the pleading tone in your voice. 

But Doggett just bit her lip and furrowed her brows, the brush pointed accusingly at you like it was a weapon in its own. You couldn’t even begin to try and hide the obvious flinch at the motion.

“Mmm, I think there is, sweet cheeks. ‘Cause I saw you comin’ out of Mr. Healy’s office with those hunky officers by your side, and I can only assume there were some favours bein’ returned there.” 

“No, there weren’t, I promise!” 

You shook your head violently, trying to convince her that she simply had the wrong idea, but Doggett seemed intent on not changing her mind. Once she had decided on what she saw, she ran with it.

“You know what?” she said in a much too calm voice. “I think you’re lyin’ to me. Mhmm, I think you’re lyin’ to everyone, includin’ the COs, just to get what you want. And that ain’t nice, no, ma’am. And I think... it’s time you got what you deserve.” 

Her wicked smile reappeared as she turned the toothbrush over and revealed the razorblade melted into the shaft. It might not look like much to the world, but your abdomen bore the evidence of its efficiency. It was the go-to prison weapon. Small, efficient and easy to conceal. 

“I know, it’s not much,” Doggett said despite your fearing expression. “But it’s sharp, it’s sharp. Do you wanna see?”

She smiled wider, almost fighting back am amazed laughter at the craftmanship. She truly was completely looney tunes. 

Doggett took a step into the shower stall, and you pressed back even harder against the wall, gasps falling from your mouth like silent prayers. You looked between her and the shiv with tearful eyes, but you couldn’t even find it in you to beg. 

She raised the sharp blade as she tilted her head to the side, biding her time, like it was her own private puppet show and she was the puppeteer. And as the lopsided smirk started to fade, she brought the blade down to your chest and pressed down, dragging a line from your collarbone and down to the edge of your breasts, where your hands and the towel prevented her from going any further. 

Your eyes threatened to shut as the pain seared on your skin, tears brimming the edges as you fought to keep them open, not trusting her should you close them for even a second. She watched the flow of blood seep from the wound the further she went, amazed at how easily your skin opened to the blade and exposed what lay underneath. She followed the slow descent of crimson down your chest, painting your skin and mixing with the droplets of water to create new paths. 

A wolf whistle echoed through the bathroom and bounced off the tiles, making you flinch again, more hiccupping gasps falling from your lips. With tears yet to fall, you watched Doggett stare into your eyes, face stone cold and calculating. Grease Hair however, let her hand drop from the side of the stall as she looked around nervously. Apparently, the whistle was a signal to indicate that their time in private was up. 

“Out,” you heard a male guard bark, his voice familiar.

You heard your third attacker speak, but you didn’t dare break the eye contact with Pennsatucky, even as the first tear left its confinement. 

“I thought only lady COs could go in the bathroom,” the lookout said innocently to the still invisible officer. 

And when hearing the officer speak again, you drew a shocked breath of hope as you recognized the voice. You were saved, or so you prayed. 

“Hey!” CO Wilson said loudly, knowing Grease Hair II was not alone. “This is not your assigned bathroom, you’re out of bounds. Out, now!” 

Grease Hair the first obediently did as the man said, and headed towards her friend to leave. But Doggett was more persistent, still watching you as if the officer couldn’t possibly do anything to her. She seemed torn between being angry that she had been interrupted and gleeful that she would get to have another go at you at some point later on. 

She leaned in a bit closer to whisper, making a startled squeak escape your mouth despite your relentless tries to not let any sound escape, pressing back with the knobs burrowing into your back as you tried to keep the distance. 

“I guess next time we gotta get more creative,” she whispered with a smirk. 

The two Grease Hairs left from your peripheral, but CO Wilson seemed adamant in his orders. He knew those two were never without Pennsatucky, therefore also knowing that she was slacking.

“Doggett!” he yelled, but didn’t round the wall. 

Out of respect for the inmates, only female COs were allowed in the bathrooms during the day, just like Angie (known to you as Grease Hair II) had pointed out when he walked in. And since he didn’t hear any screams or cries, he thought it was the best bet to stay on the other side of the wall, moving his head enough to see if a figure was approaching or not. 

Again, Doggett didn’t seem all that in a hurry to comply. 

“That’s okay! I got some other ideas,” Pennsatucky said with another wicked turn of her lips, completely ignoring the officer’s command. 

You couldn’t help it, you rightfully whimpered at the threat, jaw quivering enough that you thought you might rip the stitch. Silent tears fell as you saw the determination in her eyes, not fearing any consequences, or officers for that matter. She wanted to hurt you, and she would. 

“Doggett!” Sam barked even louder, and this time it got Pennsatucky to back off of you.

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes, comin’!” she hollered back at him, innocently as a lamb. 

But before leaving, she turned her focus back to you, a gleam in her eye as she smiled at the state of you, holding the shiv high and proud and watching your eyes flicker to it. Tears on your face and fear in your eyes mixed so well with the red of the blood now starting to seep into the towel. She would enjoy the chase, and the chance to do worse. 

And with that, she backed completely out of the stall, dragging the blade along the side to leave a trail of your blood on it, and skipped off towards the officer with an upbeat step. 

“Out, now,” you heard the officer say, the harshness of the words spurring your anxiety on, even though it was your salvation. 

“Yes, sir!” Doggett said gleefully, and you listened carefully as her steps faded. 

Leaning your head back against the wall, pulling the towel even tighter against you, you let the sobs through. You cried as silently as you could, fighting to stay upright as your legs threatened to give up on you and send you to the floor. 

Oh, god! What just happened? Why did she do that? You hadn’t said anything, just like she told you. You had done everything she said. It wasn’t by choice that you had been in Mr. Healy’s office, or that the officers were by your side, yet she had made it out to be something it wasn’t. It seemed no matter what you did, no matter how hard you tried to not mess up, you always did anyway. There was always a reason for pain, always a reason to hurt you. And you didn’t even know them anymore. You just kept being blindsided, even when you thought you did right. 

Sam was about to leave the bathroom when he heard your sobs, not knowing who they belonged to. He didn’t want to disturb whoever it was in such a vulnerable state, and he did not want to break the confidence the inmates had of privacy from male officers in the bathroom, but someone was clearly not alright. 

He moved a step back and craned his head to look at the stalls to find whoever it was that was crying, and was both worried and pissed off when he saw you. This was the second time that Doggett had made you cry to his knowledge, and to do it in the showers was not a good sign. This was the place where people were the most vulnerable, an easy target for mischief. 

You hadn’t spotted him yet, your eyes blurred with tears. Your chest was almost cramping up with fear, your heart beating like a bird trying to free itself from its cage. There were goosebumps spreading all over your skin, either from fear alone or the chill of the air hitting your wet skin, and it was no armour from the world at all. You were stuck in a spiral of dread and terror, everything coming crashing down at once. 

She had most likely had the intent to kill you, only to be forced to settle with cutting you. She had dragged a blade across your skin to watch the blood flow, and she had enjoyed your whimpers and tears. You had done _everything_ right, and yet here you were; standing timid and afraid with blood slowly trickling down your chest from another cut, from another person. Was there any kindness left at all?

A clearing of a throat was heard from where the other inmates had left, and you feared they were back. But when your eyes fell upon officer Wilson, standing far away with his head turned the other way, a new fear started to creep up. Memories started to flash in your mind, warning you of this exact situation. 

You pressed yourself into the corner of the stall and hiding yourself from view as much as you could behind the wall, your fingers cramping in their grip of the towel against your body. Gasps were falling uncontrollably from your mouth, your pulse thrumming loudly in your ears. He was going to hurt you. He was going to do so much worse than a cut. It didn’t stop. It wouldn’t stop. 

But Sam had no intentions of doing any harm, the opposite in fact. He simply wanted to make sure that you were still in one piece, and not in need of any assistance.

“You okay?” he asked, still not looking in your direction to offer you what privacy he could.

It took a while before he got an answer that wasn’t just the sound of your elaborate breathing, but eventually it came. 

“I... I... yes, s-sir, I’m f-fine, I—” 

You were not hurt enough to need any help, and you really didn’t want the officer to come over and see for himself, so you had to give him something. He had been adamant in his checks before, taking the security of both himself and the inmates very seriously, and you knew he would just question you if you didn’t give him something more. 

“Sh-she was just... talking, s-sir.” 

You stared at the officer like deer caught in headlights, captivated by fear of what was to come. Would he not believe your lie? Would he still want to check? Had he perhaps already seen the blood on your skin? The breath seized in your chest as you waited to see what he would do, your entire body and mind freezing up. You stood there, like a ghost who had just seen her own shadow, not knowing what to fear more. This was far to familiar. 

Sam nodded his head slightly, keeping his eyes averted. 

“Okay,” he said simply. “I’ll leave you to it then.” 

He started taking a step, and you were almost panic-stricken at the idea of having no one as a barrier should Doggett and her flea pack come back, but there was a hint of relief begging to be released as well. His presence was both a curse and a blessing. But Sam stopped in his steps, turning his head enough for you to hear him. 

“I’ll be right outside until you’re done. Make sure you get some privacy.” 

There wasn’t even time for you to open your mouth and force out the routine ‘thank you, sir’ before officer Wilson stalked out of the bathroom and leaving you all by your lonesome. 

As the air which had almost constricted your lungs was released, your grunting pants echoed against the tiled walls and screamed loudly in your ears as a mocking cry for help. Tears were still rolling down your cheeks as your mind drew a blank. It was just empty. Empty and heavy and so, so scary. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. You were back in the middle of it all, with a bounty on your head and people fighting to get a piece of you. 

You gave in to the crippling anxiety and let your body fall to the floor, lying in the pool of water yet to drain. The only sound in the room was your shuddering breaths as you lay there, watching the pink water flow slowly to the drain and disappear. And how you wished you could follow. Perhaps it would even grow fearless flowers on the other side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a sliiiiight shift in Bucky's views, but do you think it will last? Or will he continue twisting his perception to fit the mould he so desperately wants Jess to fit in..? Let me know what you think down in the comments!
> 
> And Sam Wilson... What a knight in shining armour, ain't he? Now if only Doggett could get the reprimanding she deserves... ;)


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky hear about what happened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all! :D 
> 
> Sorry this chapter did not have the scene where we get to see what happens to Doggett for fucking with Jess, but I feel like too much time has gone by and I wanted to give you something at least <3 
> 
> I'm dealing with a lot of mental health issues at the moment, which renders me a tired and unfocused mess who can't concentrate for long enough to even write a sentence... Please, do not worry, I am fine, I just don't have the energy or capacity to write much at the moment. Therefore, I cannot promise that there will be another update this year, but I PROMISE that this fic IS NOT GOING ON HIATUS!!! I'm just saying that the updates might be a bit further apart again. :) 
> 
> Please take care everyone! I'm sure I am not alone in dealing with mental health problems, no matter the reason or kind, and I am SO PROUD of every single one of you for just getting out of bed! (even if you go straight back to it like me ;)) 
> 
> Happy Holidays (God Jul in swedish) and Happy New Year!! (Gott nytt år!)
> 
> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Blood, wound, depressive thoughts, talk of sexual favours.

The water was all gone, leaving nothing by a trace of blood flowing steadily towards the drain and disappearing into the sewer. It was almost hypnotic, almost mesmerising to see the clean red running over the dirty and stained floor of the stall, contaminating its very nature. It was almost ironic how well it mirrored your life. But whether you were the floor or the blood, or maybe even the drain, was hard to tell anymore. 

The guidelines had become blurry, the rules muddled. There was no way of telling up from down, or right from wrong anymore. Try to do right; you get hurt. Do wrong, you get punished. You tried to keep up, tried to make everyone happy, tried to not anger everyone with your mere presence, but you just kept failing. There was no way of telling how to please everyone, or protect yourself. It was nothing but a guessing game now.

It made you sick to your stomach to even admit it, but it made you miss Nate. You didn’t actually miss _him_ , or what he had done to you, you just missed the clear directive. You knew kindness was a ruse, and eventually you had stopped falling for it, or thinking it was something that it wasn’t. You knew the rules to follow, and what the penalty would be for messing up, and there was some twisted form of comfort in that; it was familiar. 

Nothing was familiar now. You didn’t recognize the officers anymore, their behaviour a stark contrast to what had been, and it just made you confused. You didn’t know their agenda, or what they wanted with you now, seeing officer Barnes had outright rejected your advances to do what you thought he wanted you to. Was it the fact that it was offered? Did they not like it when you didn’t fight them? 

Perhaps they both wanted to force it on you. Perhaps they wanted to take it, make you submit to them by force and slander, grinding you down to the bone. If that was the case, there wouldn’t be anything left of you. If they were to take, and take, and take, you would be nothing more than a pile of flesh on the floor. Much like you were now, and it wasn’t even their doing. 

The smugness of Doggett’s face was still clear in your mind. She wanted to hurt you, and she had enjoyed doing it. She would find another way of getting to you. Your body would hold even more stories, more scars, carry them for the world to see. And Doggett had seen parts of them already, and only laughed in your face at the sight. She probably wouldn’t mind adding some to the canvas that was your skin, marking you in her own way. 

Had it not been for officer Wilson stepping in when he had, who knew how bad things would have gotten. Would Doggett had stopped at a simple cut? Was her goal simply to scare you? If that’s what she wanted, she had succeeded. You knew now that it wasn’t just empty threats she was spewing out, promises of violence to come but which she would in fact never deliver on. Now you knew she was coming for you, and she would find a way. 

Time ticked by slowly, but you couldn’t bring yourself to really care. You felt empty, drained even. There was a hurricane of thoughts rummaging through your mind, tearing at your very being and ripping you apart, and you just let it. 

The shudders had stopped, as had the tears. Now you were just a boneless heap on the ground, staring at your own blood seeping out of you. The cut hopefully wasn’t all that deep, but it had some length to it, stretching a few inches at the very least. You could probably take care of it by yourself, and not bother any of the COs with it. You already brought enough trouble to the table as it were. 

You knew you had to move. Officer Wilson would only keep watch for so long, and you were exposed and vulnerable where you were, the towel barely covering anything at this point, and it was almost soaked through. Luckily your cast-covered arm lay on top of it, keeping it as dry as possible. If you ruined the cast, you’d be even more of a pain for the COs, as well as nurse Banner. 

You turned your eyes upward, seeing your new shirt and bra still hanging from the side of the stall. All you had to do was stand up, dry off with the part of the towel that was still somewhat dry, and cover yourself up. Preferably before the bathroom became crowded. There was a familiar pattering of feet coming from the hallway, and CO Wilson could only keep them out for so long before a line would ensue, and then everyone would see that you were the reason for the delay. The _special treatment_. Again. 

Somehow, in some way, you started to get up on your feet. Where the strength to even move your limbs came from, you had no idea, but before you knew it you were standing up with a soaked towel hugging your body. You took a deep, calming breath, feeling your lungs expand and force out the anxiety to make room, and let it all out in a loud but soothing huff. Your heart slowed its forceful beat, sensation came back to your skin, the familiar sting of a cut prominent again. 

You knew the bathroom floor was dirty beyond compare, and the risk of infection grave after you had literally been lying on it, so you turned the water back on again and quickly washed off your chest and face. As the spray of water came in contact with the wound, it felt like a million needles pinched at your skin. But you washed the worst of the blood off nonetheless, even though new blood started seeping out in its place, and patted around the area to dry it off. 

Swiftly, you pulled the sports bra over your head, careful to not touch the cut, and wrapped the towel around your waist to cover... _that_. You changed into fresh and clean underwear, pulled up the khaki pants you were forced to wear since you hadn’t gone down to the laundry room to get a fresh set of sweats, and focused on cleaning off most of the blood. You didn’t want the towel to be covered in blood, so you only used a corner of it, which could easily be hidden with the right fold. And laundry was more than used to a little blood on a towel, this being a women’s prison after all, so they were unlikely to care or give it much thought. It just needed to be hidden until it got there. 

Once the blood stopped running down your chest – now only trickling down – you put a tank on to cover the worst of the worst and let the towel join the pile of old clothes, and walked around the dividing wall to where the sinks were, and got the first real look at the damage. 

The cut started just below your clavicle and went straight down to the curve of your breast, the laceration deeper in some places where Doggett had unintentionally pressed down harder. At the shallowest parts, the blood had almost entirely stopped, but rivers of red still travelled from the deeper sections, threatening to taint the white of the tank. 

You looked at it. The image was slightly distorted in the reflecting metal on the wall, but it looked out of place nonetheless. On your body were pale dots, thin slashes and thick lines, but all of them were healed. The red seemed more at home amongst the spots of yellow and purple, but its nature was of a different kind. The bruises would disappear, be erased from existence like they had never painted your body to begin with. But this cut wouldn’t. It would scab. It would be bordered with a hint of pink and red, covered by your body’s own natural defence, and it would heal. It would scar. It would forever make a home on your chest; its story loudly told every time you saw it. 

You met yourself in the mirror; vacant irises in a sea of redness, the constant line between your brow telling of endless anxiety, and familiar streaks of fallen tears shadowing your cheeks. The swollen and bruised cut on your lip was familiar as well, something you had sported more than a few times, and easily explained away by clumsiness. Nothing new. Nothing you hadn’t seen before. 

In a way you were resilient. Nothing managed to break the mould your face had become accustomed to, or create even a new wrinkle, no matter the magnitude of what was being thrown at you. This was a face you had seen when looking in the mirror for years. It was simply the way you looked now. But that never stopped the sadness from growing in your chest whenever you met the girl in the reflection. She wasn’t supposed to look like that. She wasn’t supposed to be this broken. 

You looked away. There was no use in digging yourself deeper into the pit of misery which you never seemed to resurface. It was what it was, simple as that. 

You grabbed some paper towels from the dispenser and placed them over the cut on your chest, holding back from wincing too loudly with a guard right outside. The blood helped them stick enough so that you could push through the pain and pull the stiff khaki shirt over your head, the tightness of it keeping the paper towels in place. You chucked on your hoodie again, zipping it up to cover the wrinkles created by the paper, and made sure to put your tag back on (lesson learned on that one) and packed everything up in your laundry bag. 

All you could do now was hope that the blood would coagulate and stay hidden underneath the layers of fabric and paper. Should anyone see it, the COs worst of all, you would just prove to be a nuisance. Officers Rogers and Barnes didn’t seem to like it when someone else was doing the hurting, so you could only assume there would be a punishment involved for letting it happen. But then again, there was no telling what they might do anymore, or how they would react. You could only go by the rules set by Nate, and hope that it was enough to save you the torment. 

You made sure the blood covered portion of the towel was hidden well enough in the fold, and shoved it into the bag of laundry along with your old clothes. The laundry room was closed during lunch, so the trip down there would have to be postponed. And if truth be told, you’d rather not go at all. Not only due to the memories – which were now plenty – but because Doggett was assigned to laundry. If you walked down there by your own free will, would she take the opportunity to finish what she started? Something told you that the bag of laundry would hang on your wall until you had no other choice but to trade it in for new ones. 

With everything safely held in your arms, careful to not press against your chest, you walked around the corners of the bathroom entry, and found CO Wilson patiently guarding it, like he had said. He spotted your shadow before you soon followed, and offered a gentle smile at the sight. You looked like you needed it. Thankfully there were no other inmates waiting in a line, but the sound of approaching footsteps could be heard from further down the hall, 

“All done?” he asked, keeping his tone light and friendly. 

Your stopped in your tracks as your heart started beating a little quicker, your eyes jumping all over the place as you searched for the right and familiar answer to the question. 

“Yes, sir. Th-thank you.” 

Were you allowed to leave? The officer didn’t seem to expect you not to, so you took a few careful and tiny steps forward, giving him the chance to stop you should he wish to. But he didn’t. He just kept on smiling, even turning towards the general area just like you. Maybe he wanted to keep you company, maybe he was just going that way. Whatever the answer, you wished he would have just stayed put. 

“Are you alright?” Sam asked as he walked slowly beside you. 

He had been patrolling the hallway on his way to the cafeteria when inmate Vause had come stomping out of the B-dorm bathroom, sighing and complaining about ‘fucking meth-heads’. He had known something wasn’t right, and decided to check it out. Seeing as most inmates were gathered in the cafeteria during feeding time, illegal activities in other areas weren’t that uncommon, so he thought it best to make sure. And he was glad he did. 

You thought about it once again, but you came back with the same result as always. The officer most likely didn’t want the truth, not if it would be an inconvenience which you were sure this would be, so once again you decided to go with the very rehearsed: 

“I’m fine. Thank you, sir.”

Your voice was surprisingly steady considering... well, everything. Perhaps it was that same resilience showing its face once again, just in a different light. You had manged to contort yourself to fit into that uncomfortable mould so well, that you no longer had to bend over backwards to do so. It had become a second skin. 

Sam didn’t want to push. However, he wasn’t going to let it go. Doggett had done something to you, he was sure of it, twice even to his knowledge, and he wasn’t about to let it slide. He had heard about Steve and Bucky now being in charge of you and your safety (which they failed at in Sam’s opinion), and he was not going to keep this information from them. Perhaps then they would realize that leaving you all by your lonesome was not a good idea, and they could deal with the problem as they saw fit. 

“Are you headin’ to the cafeteria?” he asked, noticing a slight flinch once he spoke. 

“Ye-yes, sir, I just... I just h-have to drop off my things first. Is... Is that okay?” 

Sam let out a light chuckle, not realizing the genuine fear that came with the question. 

“Yeah, that’s fine, Harper,” he said, letting his laughter die out. “I’ll see ya at lunch, alright?” 

Sam turned on his heel and headed to the left while you turned to the right, awaiting an answer as he walked backwards. 

“Yes, sir,” you said with a nod, making sure he saw that you were serious. 

“Good,” he said, and walked away. 

You watched him walk away, his steps confident yet light. Why he had been so kind to you, why he had offered to stay and guard the bathroom while you showered was a mystery, but you were grateful for the gesture. But there was an underlying worry that said kindness would come at a cost. Everything else always did, why would this be any different? Perhaps he was in on it all. Everyone else seemed to be. 

As you walked back towards your dorm, you kept a keen eye out for anyone coming your way. Should someone else try to get a bite out of you, you wanted to see it coming. The shock of it all was one of the worst parts, so any indication of incoming pain was helpful in coping with the marathon of your misery, and what seemed to be the never-ending desecration of your body. So... a heads-up was nice. Luckily, none was needed. The appeal of food was apparently too great. 

O.o.O.o.O

As Sam walked into the rowdy and crowded cafeteria, he saw Doggett and her group sitting at a table further down. She was laughing, making fun of something – or _someone_ more likely – entertaining her minions with whatever information she was relaying. He couldn’t help the hardening of his face at the sight, knowing that she had been up to no good only moments ago. A tense line between his brows formed a scowl as he watched her. She was a plague on two legs, all on her own. 

He remembered his mission, and instead of staring Pennsatucky half to death, focused on finding his fellow officers, both of which were manning the lunchroom along with CO Fisher. Steve and Bucky stood on one side of the room each, whilst Fisher patrolled in between the tables, overlooking things. She was a nice woman, who chatted with the inmates who invited her into their conversation for a quick joke or pun, and smiled more than she frowned, which was unusual for their line of work. 

Steve was on the entry side, spotting Sam as soon as he came walking in. He kept a keen eye on the entry whilst awaiting you, never missing anyone coming or going, and Sam was no exception. Steve nodded his head back in greeting as he came walking up to him. 

“Everything cool?” Sam asked, looking around the room. 

The loud chatter and laughter were nothing new and both were allowed, as long as the inmates kept it somewhat down. Yelling wasn’t permitted in any part of the prison, neither was instigating a fight or rallying, but when food was offered, everyone seemed to become cordial again. 

“Cool as ice so far,” Steve said, drumming his fingers against his belt. 

Sam nodded, and cleared his throat, preparing to rat Doggett out. Steve noticed the seriousness of Sam’s face, and the look he was given was just as hard. 

“What’s going on?” Steve asked, looking between Sam and catching Bucky’s eye from across the room, silently signalling that something was up. 

“I caught Doggett, Taylor and Rice in the B-dorm bathroom whilst Harper was taking a shower. If you ask me, they weren’t exactly there for a friendly chat.” 

Steve felt his usually patient nerves firing, spreading anger and disdain through his body. Of course Doggett hadn’t headed his warning. Of course she had gone out on a limb to try and hurt you. He wasn’t surprised in the least, but he was disappointed. With both Pennsatucky and himself, the latter hitting harder, due to the lack of surprise at the former’s actions. 

“Do you know what they did?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest, clenching his fists together to keep his temper down, hiding it from sight underneath his biceps. 

His eyes drifted to where Doggett was currently sitting laughing and joking with her friends, enjoying herself. He would make sure she wouldn’t be laughing for long. She had seemed to take his words to heart when he had talked to her, even backing down when hearing his threats, but she still went against everything he had said, so he might as well make good on his promises.

“No,” Sam said, keeping his voice as low as Steve’s. “According to Harper, Doggett was just talkin’, but I don’t buy that. Somethin’ was up.” 

Steve let out a deep sigh, begging his muscles to relax, but they refused to listen. Seemed to be an ongoing theme...

“Where is she now?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral.

“She was gonna drop off her things, then she’d be right here.” 

That calmed Steve slightly, knowing that he would soon see you, make sure that you were okay for himself, although he knew you could hide things more than well. As the thought occurred to him, he felt that damned familiar pang of guilt tug at his stomach. He knew _very well_ just how good you were at covering things up. The violence of that night flashed in his mind. No fun, no pleasure, no rush. Just the violence, and how hurt you had been coming— _limping_ back to the dorm. And how well you had managed to disguise the seriousness of it all...

It was his fault Doggett was on your case to begin with. If he hadn’t made a show of giving you free stuff from commissary, blatantly flirting and saying sweet things in front of everybody, you wouldn’t be in this position to begin with. None of the inmates would be trying to get to you, try to hurt you. You would have made friends, or at least keep the people that were already close to you around. 

Sam took Steve’s silence as an opportunity to speak his mind. He didn’t want to blame neither him nor Bucky for what had happened to you in the bathroom, but he knew they were the ones in charge of your safety, and they had clearly made an error of judgement. 

“I know Caputo put you in charge of Harper,” he said, earning Steve’s attention again from having drifted. “Perhaps she shouldn’t be left on her own like that again.” 

Steve drew a breath, getting ready to defend himself, but Sam beat him to it. 

“I know, there was no way you could’ve known that was gonna happen, and I know you have a job to do. But if she’s your responsibility, I just think it should’ve been you or Barnes standing guard outside the B-dorm bathroom, making sure that no one else walked in while she was in there. I’m more than happy to make sure that she’s alright, that is a part of my job after all, but ya might wanna keep a closer eye on her in the future. Tha’s all, man.” 

Steve knew that Sam wasn’t saying any of it to be rude or remark on his or Bucky’s attention, or lack of thereof in this case, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was getting his knuckles smacked by a ruler. They should have known, and they should have gone with you just in case, but they hadn’t. 

He looked over at where Bucky was standing, watching intently as he and Sam talked and tried to make out any of it from a far. He had sat watch in the bubble of your dorm, and could have walked you to the cafeteria without being too obvious, if that was what he was worried about. Steve couldn’t help but feel like Bucky was somehow at least a bit responsible for what had happened, even though they were both to blame for it all coming together. 

He looked back to Sam, a tight and shameful smile creeping across his face. 

“We will,” he said, and clamped his hand down on one of Sam’s shoulders. “Thank you. For everything.” 

With that, he left his side to walk across the room to Bucky, who was swaying his hips nervously from one side to the other as he waited to be told what Wilson had said. He knew it was about you, otherwise Steve wouldn’t have looked at him the way he did.

Bucky hadn’t gotten the chance to tell Steve what had happened in the bubble, what you had tried to do. The cafeteria had already been filling up with inmates and he needed to watch his side as soon as he got there. He had been a wreck of mixed emotions since it happened. The visual of you on your knees before him was etched in his mind, derailing his train of thought more often than not, and clearing a path for his blood to go straight down to his cock. It took most of his attention to will it away, and not pop a boner in the middle of a crowded cafeteria. 

The other part of him remembered the trembling of your body, the fearful crying, and the never-ending pleas for forgiveness for messing up. That look of terror in your eyes as you looked up at him from that very same position that had his mind spinning, made him feel like he was slowly suffocating. He couldn’t hide away from the truth. It kept chasing him, tearing at him, careless of his whereabouts. 

Steve zigzagged between the tables as he made his way over, at least pretending to have reason to talk to a fellow officer about something important. He came to a stop beside Bucky, both men folding their arms to calm their anxiety. 

“Apparently Doggett was in the bathroom with Harper,” Steve said lowly, using your last name to keep things formal whilst in public should anyone overhear. 

Bucky furrowed his brows, his jaw clenching tightly as his ire started to grow. 

“What happened?” he said, voice hushed. 

“Don’t know. According to Harper, Doggett was just talkin’ but Sam’s not buying that. He thinks there was something more going on.” 

Bucky let a frustrated breath out of his nose, looking over at where Doggett was sitting for a quick second. It had surely been something more than talking. Doggett’s track record told of a variety of issues, her religious beliefs usually being her fallback, as well as reason and excuse. Bucky looked back at Steve, and was met by the same steely expression he wore himself. 

“So I take it she didn’t listen then, huh?”

“Guess not,” Steve said, raising an almost amused brow. 

The shared a muted conversation, giving each other knowing looks which foretold of what the next step was, and how Doggett would wish that she hadn’t laid a hand on you in the first place. They had discussed it all both before and after Steve had taken her aside and given her a talking to, and it would not end well for Doggett. 

But Steve had more to say than what could be said silently. 

“Did you know Harper was gonna go to the showers?” 

“Yeah, she, uh... she wanted to seize the opportunity when there aren’t as many inmates around,” Bucky explained, knowing Steve understood your reasons just as well, before adding; “And she needed a minute to herself.” 

“Why? What happened?” 

Steve couldn’t hide the worry in his voice. Was there something else he had missed? Had something happened in the dorm too? 

Bucky bit his lip and made sure that no one was within earshot, before leaning in a bit closer. He kept his head lowered, as well as his voice. 

“She wanted to thank me for us stepping in with Healy earlier. As in... _thank me_.” 

Bucky raised his brows knowingly, and poked his tongue into his cheek for a split second to mirror the attempted action. Steve understood the gesture, and felt shame start to pool in his stomach. 

“Please tell me you didn’t...” he started, head falling forward and shaking in disbelief, praying that his friend didn’t take advantage of you in your most vulnerable state. 

“What? Of course not! I just...” Bucky looked around again after momentarily raising his voice a bit. “I just let it go on for a second too long, a second! I was caught off guard and—Fuck, I wanted it. I’m not gonna lie, I wanted her to, but I stopped her, okay? She was terrified, Steve.”

Bucky took a moment to just let Steve search his face for the truth, seeing his candour and respect for the seriousness of the situation. Bucky was being honest, sharing the shame of actually wanting you to see it through, but having the sense and willpower to stop it before it was too late. He tried to focus on that part, and not let the guilt eat away at his insides for letting it go on for as long as it had.

“And when she got on her knees I just—,” Bucky stopped himself, letting a shallow sigh relieve some of the pressure. “I stopped her before she did anything. But it was a tense moment, and when I offered to let her have some space, she wanted it, so I came straight to the cafeteria. Had I known something was up, I would never have left her, you know that.” 

Retelling it was like taking the lid off a boiling pot; the water immediately settled. Bucky felt himself ease up for a second, before the guilt came flooding back. He should have gone with you, he should have been standing outside the bathroom to make sure that you were okay, and not leave you to your own device. He should have made sure that you were alright. He was so stupid for letting you go on your own. 

“Of course I know that, Buck.”

When Steve got to hear what happened, he no longer felt that Bucky was to blame for the incident in the bathroom. Bucky had tried to give you space out of respect, tried to give you what you needed and let everything settle, and the fact that it had led to someone else getting a window of opportunity wasn’t his fault. And Steve was both glad and relieved to hear that Bucky hadn’t let you do anything to show your gratitude, that he had put a stop to it.

They had talked and joked more than freely about you at home, all different scenarios popping up. Getting head while working wasn’t far down on the list of things neither would mind happening, but the reality of it was very different, that much was evident from Bucky’s voice. 

It was becoming harder and harder for both men to keep the fantasy clean and clear, and not let the reality of the situation contaminate it, like it very much wanted to do. They had chosen to ignore the signs of severe trauma, and the way your mannerisms were so clearly calculated to keep yourself safe and out of harm’s way, to leave nothing but your docile form and delicate mind.

They could pretend your sounds of protest and pain had in fact been sounds of pleasure and arousal. They could ignore the pain they had caused you, ignore the fearful expression on your face during it all, and the evident hurt caused by their choices, and shape it to fit their fantasies. They could cut and paste the night to fit their liking, as long as the truth stayed away and left them to it. But it never did. Whenever they ran, whenever they stopped seeing it for what it had been and what it was, the remorse and the shame came back a tenfold. 

Your sounds hadn’t been caused by desire. Your tears hadn’t been from overwhelming pleasure. It was pain, and nothing but pain. Pain caused by them. Pain because they wanted you to hurt, wanted to hear you scream and cry and lose the fight to them, which they had no doubt that you would. They had toyed with you, played with you like hungry wolves ripping apart a carcass, then acted like they couldn’t understand why bones were showing through. 

Steve hated how they had both talked about you. They had been so crass, so crude and predatory in their words. And the fact that it was _after_ you had confessed your pain to him, let him in on the secrets of your mind, was gut-wrenching to admit. You had opened up, been truthful in the hopes of perhaps earning some pity or understanding, and he had pushed his feeling of guilt away to leave room for his growing infatuation for you instead. He had chosen the easy way out. The lighter path. 

He wasn’t alone in that choice though. Bucky had done the same, seized the same opening when presented to him, and gone down the path of juvenile affection and lust so he didn’t have to bear such a heavy cross anymore. They had joked and laughed about touching you, fucking you, about having you in their beds; theirs to do with as they pleased. Anything to make it seem like they weren’t monsters. Like they weren’t the bad guys. Like they weren’t rapists. 

Steve was starting to feel overwhelmed by the assortment of emotions poking at him from all directions. It was hard to decipher what feeling belonged where, and who it was directed at, but he would deal with them all in time. He always did. If life had taught him anything, it was that everything always catches up in the end, so it was best to meet it head-on. 

Steve sighed again, focusing on the present and the person in front of him. 

“I’m sure she appreciated the alone time,” he said, offering Bucky a gentle smile. “Couldn’t have been easy for her.” 

Bucky let out a half-hearted scoff, along with a tight smile. He appreciated the gesture of understanding and non-blaming, but it didn’t feel right to accept it. 

“Yeah, and look where that got her,” he said in a sombre voice. “I should’ve known. I mean, she’s supposed to be under extra surveillance and I fuckin’ offered, yet I leave her to go off by herself.”

“Hey, don’t do that to yourself,” Steve said firmly. “You showed her respect by letting her go off on her own, by offering her that time alone. If she took it then she obviously needed it.”

Bucky let out a frustrated sigh, hating when Steve was being logical and not allowing him to run with his feelings of uselessness. 

“Yeah...” he said through another sigh, which earned something short of a scoff from Steve. 

“You hate it when I’m right, don’t you?”

“I hate it so much it makes me hate _you_ sometimes.” 

Both snickered at that comment, feeling the nerves and worry seep out with each chuckle. They were equally good at digging themselves in deeper with feelings of hopelessness and failure, as they were at hiding away from their own demons. The relief was welcomed, and soon Bucky started accepting the situation for what it was. What’s done is done, there’s no going back to undo it. All they could do now was repair the damage, and remove the thorn called Pennsatucky from your life. 

Bucky cleared his throat, letting his shoulders sag down a bit again after the tension drew them high, glancing over at Doggett again. 

“So,” he said. “Don’t suppose you’d let me do the honours?” 

He could sure need the stress relief at this moment. Anything to help him get it out of his system.

Steve scoffed again, a smile tugging at his mouth at the thoughts running through his mind at the sight of a clueless Pennsatucky. 

“Sorry, bud,” he said. “But I’m gonna finish what I started.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being here <3


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actions have consequences, Doggett...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back baby!!! 
> 
> Thank you all sooooo much for your patience and support, I cannot believe that this fic has such amazing fans <3 
> 
> I also cannot believe that there are some of you who have even made fanart... AHHHHH!!! Our dear, lovely friends SMRofficial04 and Pumpkin_Empanada have both made amazing art and sent it to me, and I just had to find a way to share it with everyone single one of you! 
> 
> Soo....
> 
> I made a Tumblr page dedicated to this fic, and this fic alone! Follow this link: https://jojjokiwi.tumblr.com/ and check out my page where I post pics, gifs and fanart made by you guys, along with snippets from a scene or chapter from the story, or maybe just share a thought of how sexy our dear officers are... 😉 Don't forget to follow, and let me know if you do 'cause I will follow you back!
> 
> The page is mainly to boost the experience of reading the fic with fitting gifs and such to go along with the story, as well as to give you guys a chance to interact with me between postings here! I always link to the fic if there are people coming from Tumblr to AO3, but the focus is to interact with the already existing fans and readers, because you are all so amazing and I just need to talk to you <3
> 
> You do not have to have an account to visit the page, so please stop by and check out the amazing art made for 'Blood must have blood' specifically! As well as getting a peek at who I see as Nate Millers... 😉 
> 
> Without further ado; ENJOY!

You walked into the cafeteria, feeling several sets of eyes on you, watching your every move. Inmates snickered and scoffed upon seeing you, following you with their gaze as you approached the short line to get yourself a tray of food. The officers, your officers, were both standing on that side of the room, both watching you like the inmates were. But they didn’t snicker or scoff, they just crossed their arms and stayed silent, their faces blank and unreadable. 

Your eyes shot up to theirs to try and get a read on their emotions, but there was no real telling what was going on inside their heads. Neither one looked mad, or upset. Bucky looked a bit flustered, perhaps thinking back on what had transpired in the bubble... Had he told Steve? You could almost see an apologetic smile tugging at the corners of Steve’s mouth, so perhaps he already knew, or perhaps he knew about the encounter with Doggett in the bathroom... Could you trust Bucky’s words about not having to _thank_ Steve neither? _Should_ you trust his words? 

That familiar lump had made its way down your oesophagus yet again, wedging itself there, the fear within it suffocating you as you approached both men. Neither one said a word, but Steve nodded shortly at you with that hint of smile still present, and walked back towards his end of the cafeteria again, zigzagging his way through the tables in a supervising fashion. Bucky looked out across the room once you were close enough to pass, not wanting anyone to get the wrong idea should he look at you wrong, or smile. Both him and Steve knew they had eyes on them, and acted like they would with any other inmate. Though in their minds, you were like no one else in the entire prison. 

You passed officer Barnes with tension lining your entire body and eyes downcast, trying to make yourself as small and insignificant as possible under the intense stare of everyone around. He neither said nor did anything, and you could let out a small and shallow sigh at the relief. The line was short, and you were quickly given a tray splattered with food, and without too many cold stares you moved to a nearby table and sat down at the end, away from the others occupying it. But they didn’t seem to want company, or maybe they had in truth finished their food. But whichever case, they picked up their trays and left. 

It hurt to sit down on such a hard surface. The pain was almost completely gone now, not hurting when you were walking or sitting on your bed. But when sitting on a metal seat in the cafeteria, tense and weary, the bruising and tears still made their presence known, a horrible reminder of the assault you wished you could forget. But it wasn’t the only pain at the moment, and that pain called out even louder for your attention.

Every move you made caused the layers of shirts to move the paper towel sticking to the wound, and pinches shocked you more often and not. It stung and burned all the same. You hoped at least that it was silent enough so no one could hear it and ask any questions. Thankfully, you had carried a pain expression more often than not during your time in their company, so no one knew to even notice the pained pinch of your brows whenever the cut was grazed someplace new. Just carrying the tray, moving your arms to set it down, not to mention eating, caused it to scratch across the throbbing laceration and a tremor to move through your entire body. 

A familiar snicker was heard not far from where you were sitting; Doggett. You suspected a set of eyes belonged to her, probably having watched you since you walked into the room, her minions probably doing the same. But it didn’t get any worse than that thankfully. 

In the midst of it all; the stares, the laughs, the taunting that carried all the way to where you were sitting, you felt the unfamiliar sensation of safety. The worst that would happen in the cafeteria was being tripped up, or having food thrown at you, but at least that didn’t hurt. You were all alone in a crowded room. A zebra in the middle of the savannah, surrounded by hungry lions with snarling growls, yet no one would dare to take a bite. 

It was a feigned safety, you knew. It was just a moment where the spotlight was showering the entire room with light, the supervising officers catching every attempted move of aggression, and shutting it down with harsh consequences to follow. Had it not been for the guards, your striped skin would be torn from your limbs, piece by agonising piece. 

Bucky was doing his best to not stare at you with longing and apologizing eyes as you ate alone in silence. He felt like he hadn’t done enough by simply stating that any favours were unnecessary. Not after what had happened. There wasn’t just the event in the bubble of the dorm, no matter how much he wished that was the case. It was everything prior as well. It was everything he and Steve had done since you got to Litchfield, everything they had said, every painful moment they had caused. 

The evidence of everything you had been forced to endure was written loud and clear on your body, and he remembered the sight more vividly than he wanted to. The most permanent ones he was guiltfree of, but that didn’t change the fact that they existed in the first place, that they had been there the entire time. He remembered the bold lines low on your abdomen, the word they formed. A word which had no place on your body whatsoever. A label forced on you by the sharp edge of a knife, wielded by a person you trusted who saw to it that you would never forget what he had done to you. What Steve and Bucky had done to you... 

He remembered the moment you drew your first breath again, how scared you were, how painful it had been to do so. That terrified look on your face, the hopelessness that came back into your eyes. And when you noticed the exposure of your skin, the necessary nakedness which only terrified you more, there was a tension and fear like never before. He had been there. He had seen it, seen the relief of pain when you were gone, and the moment when it all came flooding back. And it shamed him.

Thinking back on the things he had said, the things he had threatened to do with words both spoken and unspoken, made him sick to his stomach. He had been so vile. He had been so cruel. During all his time in the army, all his time fighting no matter on what ground, he had never been a bully. But with you he had been more than that. And the fact that he now, after everything that had transpired already, was starting to have confused and muddled feelings for you only spurred all that self-hatred on. But he supposed that he deserved it. As well as the anxiety slowly petrifying his body from not being adequate in his protection. 

For Steve, the tension was building and building, his muscles straining in his tight uniform and fingers almost cramping in their vicelike grip on his biceps as he watched Doggett watching you. He wanted to wipe that smug smirk off her face, bring her down a peg or two until she could no longer find a smirk to paint on. If only lunch would end, then he would get to work, and see to it that it was done with, once and for all. 

His gaze jumped to you once in a while. You looked pretty much how he thought you would after both the affair with Bucky as well as Doggett; trembling, timid, scrunched up shoulders and worrisome expression on your face. In your eyes he could swear he saw a hint of a glistening wetness. Perhaps there was some embarrassment lingering there, perhaps it was fear. Though you had nothing to be embarrassed about. You had done what you thought was right, you had tried to show appreciation, in the only way you knew most likely, and there was no shame in that. After all, with everything they had done to you, Steve wasn’t in the least surprised by your efforts to continue along the same lines as you supposedly had with Nate. 

It was the second time you had offered that ‘favour’ to Bucky. And this time, Bucky had made it clear that it was not necessary, not as a form of apology or gratefulness. Steve knew he shouldn’t, but there was a small part of him that was almost envious that he hadn’t been the one who you had offered to thank in such a way. Just offer. He would never go through with it, he would never hurt you like that again. But a part of him, however small, however powerful, just wanted to have the visual engraved in his mind, something to refer back to when he had a moment to himself. 

But shame didn’t allow the feeling to stay for long, instead letting his own gratefulness through over the fact that he didn’t have to see you in such a vulnerable state. He didn’t have to be the one to see those tears and trembling fear just from having to do such a deed. He didn’t have to be the one to reject you like Bucky had. 

Instead, he would deal with the pest which had burrowed itself into your life; Pennsatucky. He would remove pain from your life, not add to it. For once, he would get a chance to do good, to make your life better and not worse. And for that, he was truly grateful. 

Lunch had come to an end, and the inmates had left the cafeteria. Most had left on their own accord, some had been ordered to finish their meals and head off, slacking just to piss of the COs more than anything. 

Bucky had made sure you made it back to the dorm safe, following a few steps behind to not be too obvious. He had to slow his steps, and let his gaze bounce around, which was harder than he thought. It didn’t help that you looked like a scared rabbit trying to hide in plain sight, jumpy and timid whenever someone got too close. But he couldn’t reprimand someone for simply walking by you, even though it looked more than intentional at times. 

Steve on the other hand had followed behind someone else. He knew where Doggett was going, but he didn’t want to risk her taking anymore detours and ‘bumping’ into you. He knew Bucky had everything under control on his part, and was keeping an even closer eye on you this time, but one could never be too careful. 

He patrolled the hallways connecting to the laundry, biding his time and picking at the objects in his pocket. If he went in too soon, he would lose his element of surprise. No, he’d rather let Doggett think that she’s gotten away with her little scheme, thinking she’s fooled the officers, Steve especially. He would let her stew in her found glory, tell her tale and amplify it to the high heavens to her minions despite their presence at the scene, brag about her sneakiness. He would turn the table quick enough.

Half an hour passed before Steve decided he had waited long enough and headed towards the doors, stomping into the laundry room with authoritative steps and a face of stone. His eyes were cold and stern, his jaw clenched with a tick. He had one thing in mind, and one thing only; Doggett. 

She was at the far table, folding shirts and sending them to Leanne who in turn placed them in the cart. Angie was there too, feeding the washer with clothes to be washed. Alex Vause moved the freshly cleaned clothes to the dryer, the only one of the laundry-workers who wasn’t a meth-head, or a part of Pennsatucky’s posse. She was the other side of the same coin; supply and demand. 

Everyone turned their heads towards the officer once he rounded the machines, standing in the way of their exit with his feet planted shoulder width apart, and hands resting menacingly on his belt with a firm grip. His face told of no bullshit, and Doggett couldn’t hide the lightbulb pinging inside her head at his presence. She knew why he was here. 

“Everybody out but Doggett,” Steve said sternly, leaving no room for argument. 

Angie and Leanne looked worriedly at their friend ‘Penn’, before they started shuffling towards the doors and rounding the officer who refused to budge even an inch. Alex Vause on the other hand didn’t seem bothered or afraid at all, knowing she wasn’t in any form of trouble. She had nothing to fear from a pissed off CO, but Doggett sure did. She sauntered behind the other women, a quick raise of her brows as she lifted her glasses to the top of her head when passing Steve.

“Sure thing, officer,” she said in a tempting voice. 

If Steve didn’t know about her relationship and past with the other inmate Piper Chapman, he would almost think she was flirting with that tone. Even if that had been the case, he wasn’t taking the bait. 

“Close the doors behind you,” he said to her, nodding his head back towards the doors. 

“You’re the boss,” Alex replied, not giving any sass, but not really showing any interest either. 

Doggett was left alone with the officer, the silence growing tense as he waited for the doors to shut behind his back. She fiddled with the piles of clothes on the table, looking anywhere but at him. But Steve didn’t look away once when they were alone. He knew she was simmering under his gaze, and he couldn’t help but enjoy it. 

He heard the doors shut behind him, it made Pennsatucky flinch even. He took a few steps closer, before stopping again. 

“Thought I told you to stay away from Harper.” 

Doggett shifted her weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting and fumbling with the clothes in her hands to keep herself occupied, pretending to do her work. 

“I ain’t done nothin’,” she said in a voice which she tried to make sound hard, but only fell flat. 

Steve narrowed his eyes at her and took another step towards her, even hearing the whimper fall from her lips. 

“Wh—... Hey, I—... I just talked to her, is all,” she sputtered out, feeling the intense energy oozing off of the officer. 

Her face scrunched up in a worried frown, her forehead wrinkling as she tried to plead her case. But Steve didn’t believe it. She could say that she did nothing more but talk, but said ‘talking’ seemed to have quite the affect in that case. If you didn’t cry and shake after some of the threats him or Bucky had made in the past, there was no way mere words from Doggett could make you do that either. Steve went with his gut, and pressed on. 

“No, you didn’t.” 

“Wh-why?” Doggett asked. “What she say?” 

Steve took yet another step, and this time Doggett stepped back to try and keep the distance between the angry officer and herself. She felt the anxiety build in her chest, not trusting his intentions. He hadn’t exactly been violent in their previous encounter, but he had gotten physical and grabbed her neck real hard. Then add the threats to do worse should she not listen... And she had in fact not listened to him, so she was right to back away. 

“Nothing,” Steve said coldly. “She didn’t have to. I know you, Doggett. And I know you’re passed the time of simply talking to Harper. I wanna know what you did.” 

Doggett let out a nervous chuckle as she once again matched Steve’s step forward with her own step back. 

“Come on, we... we were just playin’ around,” she said, not able to hide her nerves. 

Steve kept taking his long and slow steps, coming around the table to where Doggett was standing, still not really looking at him. She was not convincing in her arguments nor her body language. Anyone could tell she was lying. 

“Your games don’t really humour others, now do they, Doggett?” 

To that she had no answer, instead just turning her head down under the heat from the now towering officer before her. Steve’s hands were still firmly grasping a hold of his belt, resting far too close to both his nightstick and taser to be comfortable for Doggett. But it was his hands she should be worried about. 

Steve moved with such speed and accuracy that she had no way of predicting it, before he grabbed her entire jaw in hand, holding her firmly in place. 

“Ah!” she gasped as she was all but lifted to the balls of her feet. 

Steve ignored her whimper as well as her own hands coming up to cradle his, trying to remove some of the pressure, which quickly turned into pain. 

“Tell me what you did in that bathroom,” he said, voice laced with venom. 

His eyes were cold as he stared into hers, his face lined with anger and determination. He would get an answer one way or another. But all Doggett could do was whimper and whine under his gaze, still trying to pry his hand off her face. 

“I won’t ask you again,” he said with a slight jerk of her face, voice an octave lower. 

She couldn’t get out of his grip no matter how much she tried. The more she tried, the angrier he seemed to get. He was not going to let her go without an answer. So she caved. 

“I—... I just... cut her a little,” she mumbled through her forced shut jaw. 

Steve felt like his blood was going to boil once he heard it, his fingers digging hard into her skin without even meaning to. Scaring you was one thing, talking shit was one thing, but taking a blade and dragging it across your skin, _drawing blood_... was a different thing entirely. 

Anger was reeking off of him, his body tensing and seeming to be broader than ever as he inhaled deeply at the answer, chest puffing out. His other hand was balled up in a fist, veins protruding as blood was rushing through his muscles, preparing for impact, preparing to fight. Pennsatucky stood frozen, her eyes locked with his as his stare bore into her. She was shaking even, knowing she had fucked up. She should have headed his warning. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Steve said through gritted teeth. 

His face was close enough that she could feel his breath fan over her face. 

“Ugh...” she whined, all prior spit and sass long gone. 

A loaded second passed. Steve was almost shaking with fury. Everything that had already happened to you was flooding through his mind like a tidal wave; the abuse you had suffered, the teasing, the exclusion, the beatings, the rape. And _none of it_ was your fault. _None of it_ called for this harassment, this pain. 

He knew he was carrying a heavier cross than Doggett in the matter, but he was at least trying to make up for it. He was trying to make up for what he had done, trying to keep you safe, undo what had already been done in any way that he could, and she was tearing all of that down, she was still hurting you. If anyone was going to feel the heat of his wrath, it was her. 

It took every ounce of self-control not to beat her into an oblivion right on the spot, but instead settle with keeping his fists out of it. 

Steve shoved Pennsatucky back as roughly as his strength would allow, sending her reeling into the closest wall and hitting it painfully hard, before falling down to the floor in a heap. 

“Agh!” 

He stood above her, feeling the worst of his anger be quenched by his action as he watched her try to scramble to her feet again. She was breathing hard, pained whimpers falling freely as she pushed herself up again. But before she could rise to her small frame’s entire height, she felt a prodding object at the soft part of her belly. 

A painful fire coursed through her entire being when the taser connected with her body, and she went stiff as a board when the electricity passed through every muscle, every vein. Her jaw locked shut, and she couldn’t scream even if she desperately wanted to. 

Steve pressed the taser into her belly hard, making sure the connection wasn’t broken for even a split second before he decided it. He pushed her back against the wall, holding her there for just a second longer, staring coldly into her petrified eyes, before he at last removed the taser. 

“U-ugh... agh...” 

Doggett collapsed to her knees, feeling like her entire body was made of jelly after the intense shock it had received. She was more than aware of the fact that the officer’s boots were now mere inches away from her face. And even though she feared a hard kick would come flying at her face, she couldn’t find the strength to even turn her head away. 

But the kick never came. Instead, his feet moved around enough to allow Steve to crouch down before her, hands held together and elbows resting on his knees, with the taser back safely on his belt. He let out a sigh as he lowered himself down, almost like a disappointing parent would when a child had misbehaved. He leaned his head to one side, still a head taller than her even in this position, and looked almost gently down at her. 

“You know...” he said in a much softer voice. “This could all have been avoided had you just listened to me.” 

Doggett lifted her head a bit to look up at the officer, breaths still strained and pained. His calm demeanour did not match his intense energy, the distaste and hostility still clear as day. She didn’t dare to say anything. She was afraid of making the situation even worse than it already was if she did. And Steve was not surprised at her lack of response at all. 

“I told you that you wouldn’t like the payment for disobeying me and hurting Harper again,” Steve continued in an equally calm matter on the surface. “Have we learned our lesson this time?” 

Doggett nodded her head so fast that her vision became blurry. 

“Yes! Yes, sir,” she breathed out with a puff. 

“Hm,” Steve said with a pensive nod. “That’s what you said last time too though, wasn’t it?” 

Pennsatucky knew she was done for, letting her head roll forward in defeat as the tears started making their way up her throat. She couldn’t go through being tasered again, and now she knew that he would not hesitate to do so. 

“Please...” she begged with a brittle voice, the want to cry evident. 

Steve just raised a feigned concerned eyebrow at the plea, but no more came out. His eyes read of determination, disappointed in her lack of tries, and that concerned look was quickly wiped off his face.

“That’s not gonna work this time, I’m afraid,” he said firmly, grabbing her arm roughly. 

He stood up again to his full height, pulling her up along with him with such ease that she might as well have been a child. 

“Ah—Hey!” she protested as she was violently hoisted to her feet.

Steve ignored her completely, and instead slammed her down against the table without a care for any pain, or the fact that only her toes were left on the ground, and forced both her arms behind her back in a way he knew was too rough to be comfortable. 

“Doggett, Doggett, Doggett,” he mused as she grunted and groaned. “When are you gonna learn who’s in charge here, huh?” 

He made quick work of getting her in handcuffs, ignoring her grunts of protest and trying wriggles to get out of his grip as he did. However, he would not accept such insubordination and defiance, and firmly grasped her neck and held her down against the tabletop, much like he had you that night... But he ignored the reminder, and focused on the present. 

He had a sneaking suspicion that Doggett was guilty of more than what she had confessed, especially since she needed to be convinced to do so in the first place. There was no way she was going to cop to all the shitty things she has done to you, at least not by choice. So he left her none. 

“Are you the one who took the pills from her?” he asked, feeling her tense up a bit, probably not expecting him to know about it.

“Agh...” she let out, the fear causing her voice to tremble. 

Steve let a breath out through his nose, feeling his patience run thin as the list of her faults and damage caused grew even longer, taking her silence as a confession.

“Thought as much,” he said, pressing Pennsatucky down into the table even more.

Steve didn’t care about her fear or her pain, because she should be afraid and she deserved to feel the same pain she had made you feel. But despite being angry, despite knowing that he had probably the trashiest person on the face of the earth in his hands, at his mercy, Steve couldn’t find it in him to take advantage and beat her to a pulp, even though she had done plenty to deserve it. 

He didn’t want to see or feel that side of him again; beating someone far less able to defend themselves, or worse. But Doggett – and every other woman for that matter – was free of worry in that department, because Steve would never again hurt someone in the way he had hurt you. He would never lay hands on another woman unless asked and appreciated, unless it was consented to. But threats? That was a whole different thing. 

“Where’s the shiv?” he asked calmly but his voice left no room for bullshit.

Pennsatucky let out a pained groan, seemingly pondering her options. But she came up short, knowing there was no way of physically outwitting the officer, so she spilled the beans.

“L-left trouser pocket... ugh...” 

She tried to wriggle out of his grip again, but with no purchase on the floor and a strong hand holding the back of her neck agonisingly hard, she barely even moved an inch. 

Steve patted the outside of her khakis, and felt the hard material resting there. He carefully slid his hand inside and fished it out, being slightly unimpressed by the simplicity of the thing; yet another toothbrush with a razorblade. Did these inmates have no imagination at all? But he supposed Doggett was excused, given the amount of drugs she had been using over the years, probably frying her brain like a slice of bacon in a greased pan. 

He slammed the thing down on the table, right in front of her face, and leaned against the table, almost leaning over her. 

“That the best you could come up with?” he mocked. “I must say, Doggett... I thought you druggies were resourceful in your inventions? Guess nothing beats the good old go-tos, huh?” 

She stayed silent, not caring for his mocking sarcasm, but too afraid to mouth off. She really didn’t want to know just how violent the officer could become when pressing the right buttons. 

“Now let’s see what else we can find,” Steve said, reaching for his own pocket first, before he started patting her down. 

“I ain’t got nothin’,” Pennsatucky said with a pout, the defeat finally kicking in. 

“Oh, I think you do,” Steve said to her surprise. “Like this.” 

He held his hand out in front of her, showing her the little baggie he was holding between his fingers. She knew what it was; heroine. And she also knew that she didn’t have that on her, even though she had wished for it several times. 

“Wha—? That ain’t mine,” she argued, looking between the officer and the small but tempting bag still in his hands. 

“That’s not what the report will say.”

Doggett craned her neck as much as his grip would allow, to look the officer in the eyes, finding nothing but mirth and satisfaction in them as he stared back with a raised brow, almost daring her to mouth off. And she did, the fear previous all but gone. 

“What?” she spat. “It ain’t mine, an’ you know it. You planted that shit on me!” 

She tried to squirm out of his grip again, kicking at his legs and tugging at the cuffs, but nothing would budge. 

“Ugh!”

But Steve held her down with ease even through her struggles, and kept his calm and unnerving tone. 

“Who are they gonna believe, huh?” he said, and it made Doggett freeze. 

She looked up at him again, not liking the look she was given at all. It was yet another silent dare to mouth off, like he enjoyed the power he held over her, both physically and in believability. When she didn’t answer – though hatred was still prominent in her eyes – he went back to patting at her pockets and hemlines, ‘finding’ more hidden treasures and placing them all on the table before her. 

“Look at this! Shiv, heroine, cigarettes, lighter. Someone’s been a busy bee. You could’ve burnt the whole place down with this,” he said, wiggling the newly bought lighter in front of her face. 

Doggett gritted her teeth together, balling her fists up to contain the worst of her anger. She knew she was done for, and dread was quickly building in her chest at what the future would hold, what would come of this display of power. But she was still a mouthy little thing. 

“No, I couldn’t, ‘cause you brought it in,” she spit out, before adding a spiteful, “ _officer_.”

Steve let out a small scoff, pleased to see that not all the fight had run out of her just yet. 

“No, I didn’t,” he said calmly, leaning in to almost whisper in her ear. “You were caught with illegal contraband and a weapon on your person when I did a random search, and you attacked me when I tried to cuff you.”

Pennsatucky let out an irritated sigh, almost groaning under the added weight of the officer. 

“No, I didn’t!” she argued, but stayed put. 

“Really?” Steve mused. “Then how do you explain the gash on your face caused by the impact when I took you to the ground?”

“What? There’s no ga—”

And just as quick as Doggett was to answer back, Steve lifted her from the table and slammed her down on the ground. With no means of protecting her face from being smashed into the ground, said cut appeared on the side of her forehead, small droplets of blood falling on the concrete beneath her head.

“Ah!” 

Steve planted a knee right in the middle of her back to keep her down as she struggled to at least move to her side and relieve some of the pressure, and leaned a hand on the ground by her head. 

“There is now,” he said mockingly as she continued to release pained whimpers. “You should really learn to listen to the officers, Doggett. It would make your life so much easier. Perhaps they can teach you that down at Max?” 

Once she heard the word, all regards for any current pain or possible pain to come was out the window, and her mouthy side was back. 

“What? I’m not goin’ to Max! You brought that shit in an’ fuckin’ planted it on me. Ugh! I’m gonna tell Mr. Healy what you did, you fuckhead! Mr. Healy! Mr. Healy!” 

But Steve stayed as calm as before despite her constant shouting and name-calling, and reached back to his belt for the taser once again. He held it within her line of vision, pressing the button to start the current, and her relentless racket was silenced. 

“Mr. Hea—!” 

She stared at the black device with the most fearful expression Steve had ever seen written on her face, and he couldn’t contain the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. He made her fear him. He made her realize that her actions have consequences, and that hurting you, meant even more pain for her. 

“I thought you said you’d learned your lesson?” he said, and a fearing gasp fell from her lips. 

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes, I-I have, sir, please—ah!” 

Steve pressed the button again, the loud zapping sound making Doggett flinch and try to move away from it, but Steve’s was faster and pressed the prongs into her ribs. Her entire body went rigid, and the only sound she could let out was a gurgling groan. When he removed it, she was a panting mess on the floor, resting her forehead into the small pool of her own blood. 

“...ugh...”

“Then quit fuckin’ around, and do as I fuckin’ say, inmate,” Steve spat, and placed the taser back in its place. 

That time she listened, and didn’t even try to struggle in his grip. She knew the payment well enough. 

“Yes, sir...” she breathed, grunting and groaning when his knee dug into her back. 

Steve moved back, grabbed a hold of her upper arms and pulled her to her feet. She swayed for a second, her limbs feeling like Jell-O once standing. Her head was throbbing after the hard hit on the floor, and she felt the trickling of blood on the side of her eye. She couldn’t help but think that you were responsible for this. Officer Rogers was your guard dog after all, and he was doing this because of you. But she also felt kind of stupid for not listening when given the chance. Had she in fact listened the first time, this wouldn’t have happened. 

Steve stood still for a moment, just holding onto Doggett and watched how everything clicked for her. The fight was gone, there was no more mouthing off or trying to bargain with him. She knew what she had done. She knew her place. And she knew that she had fucked up immensely. 

“Not so tough when it’s someone bigger than you, huh?” Steve said, but Doggett just hung her head. “That’s a good thing, ‘cause you’re about to be surrounded by COs just like me for the rest of your sentence, and we wouldn’t want you to add even more time to that sentence than what that contraband will, now would we?” 

Doggett said nothing, admitting defeat and let reality wash over her as the officer started leading her away by an unforgiving hold of her arm, all the items safely back in his pocket to be reported. 

Steve felt a sense of pride and accomplishment tug at the corners of his heart, pleased to have relieved you of a thorn as irritating as Pennsatucky. It was unforgiving what she had done, the damage she had caused when he and Bucky were trying to repair everything that they themselves had done. He felt like they had taken one step forward and two steps back before, but that was about to change. 

Everything she knew, all the things she had achieved in minimum, all the people who followed her and feared her... It was all being taken away, fading with each step towards the intake where her file would change from saying ‘minimum’ to ‘max’ with nothing more than a click of a button. 

She would have at least a few years added to her sentence due to the contraband ‘found’ on her, all serious enough to cause for a change of scenery. She would no longer roam free in corridors being supervised by COs, no more walking from point A to point B on her own, at her own pace. Now she would spend her days locked in a cellblock, officers at every corner, ready to lead a group of inmates to where they needed to go at exactly the given time, and not a second later. The ‘freedom’ of minimum was gone, and all her wit with it. 

As they walked through the hallways towards the front; officer Rogers holding a firm grasp of a misconducting inmate in handcuffs, with a cut on her forehead and blood running down her face, whose guilt was clear to anyone who saw, the message came across loud and clear; don’t try it. 

Steve knew that Doggett was not the only one who was gunning for you, making your life miserable, but she was the main source of it, and he was not alone with that knowledge. And leading her away was a show of power flaunted shamelessly. And he hoped that everyone who saw would be smart enough to head the silent warning. Because he would not hesitate to do the same to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do we feel about what Steve did? Did he use his dark side for good, or did he just use his dark side? Please let me know in the comments!
> 
> I have missed yoooouuu!!! <3 <3 <3
> 
> Also, don't you guy's think it's time for all of us to have a fandom-name? What should we call ourselves? All I can think of is 'Bloodies', but that's not any good... And I know you guys are sitting on hidden gems, so don't hold out on me! Give me everythin' you got! <3 
> 
> Don't forget to go see the page on Tumblr: https://jojjokiwi.tumblr.com/
> 
> Don't forget to follow, and let me know if you do 'cause I will follow you back! See you there!! :D


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumlow meets the Guard Killer...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for all the lovely, lovely people found on this platform! I cannot tell you how much I appreciate every single one of you <3  
> Thank you Pumpkin_Empanada for all the help and input, couldn't have done it without you :*
> 
> IMPORTANT QUESTION!
> 
> We need a name for our little fandom, the fans of Blood must have blood... These are the suggestions that have been given:
> 
> Bloodies  
> Revengers  
> Cellmates  
> Harpies
> 
> Please let me know which one floats your boat in the comment section below, and if none do, give me another suggestion and we'll have another vote the next chapter :)
> 
> Don't forget to check out my Tumblr account where I post pics, gifs and snippets from the fic to boost the experience of it, along with some truly awesome fanart! :D
> 
> https://jojjokiwi.tumblr.com/
> 
> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Blood, wounds, medical examination, mental and physical pain

You stayed in your bunk like officer Barnes had recommended. If he told you to stay put, you would stay there until further notice and hope that it was the right thing to do. There was nothing you excelled at like taking orders, even when nicely put. He had been very gentle and nice when speaking to you, perhaps feeling a bit uncomfortable by what had taken place in the bubble...

You tried not to think about it, tried not to worry, but it was proven hard. The scene flashed before your eyes more times than you could bring yourself to ignore, but you still couldn’t find any clues as to why it had gone the way it did. The rules of the game were still a mystery, and you hated playing blind. It was like you were playing checkers, and they were playing chess. 

With Nate, you had both being playing the same game, albeit on very different sides of the board. He had played hard and rough, ploughing through any competition while you laid down the railroad in his path. But at least the directives had been clear, the faults obvious. Now everything was just one big grey area. 

Trying to redirect your train of thought just meant going down a different road of torment and worry. Going down memory lane wasn’t really a favourite so you tried to stay off that path at least, so you had to settle for what was in the present. But if you didn’t worry about the guards, then you worried about your sentence, about your life. 

There were no news from your lawyer Howard since you had last called him after being told to do so, which didn’t really come as a shock since he had said that it would take time for everyone to go through everything. But still, it was cause for worry. 

Everything... What did that entail? What had leaked to the media exactly? How much did people know, and who were those people? The guards knew, that much was sure after what Steve had told you, but did the inmates? You were under no illusion that there weren’t any phones within prison walls, or that the inmates didn’t have access to the outside world should they want to, but that didn’t mean that said people immediately opened up the first news site to read up on the latest gossip. Maybe they didn’t know just yet, but they were bound to know at some point. Secrets were hard to keep hidden once someone started untangling the mess they made. 

The mess of your life was a hard one to untangle, but apparently people were giving it a good try. What that meant for you, you still hadn’t decided. There were many decisions to be made, many factors to take into consideration and risks to weigh. It wasn’t just a straight road to freedom, if that was even what awaited you at the end of the road. No matter what would come of it, there would be bends and turns and forks in the road where you would have to make a decision. And you couldn’t even decide what to hope for. 

You were being watched. Not only by the vigilant eyes of officer Barnes patrolling through the dorm every ten minutes or so when he didn’t reside in the bubble to keep his watchful eye, but by every passing inmate too. It had become the routine. Like visitors at a zoo where you were the ever so popular attraction that everyone wanted to get a peek at. But there wasn’t just peeking going on. Some muttered slandering words and insults under their breath when the officer wasn’t in the room, calling you all sorts of things. You couldn’t decide if the shame of being called a cocksucking slut or the officer’s personal whore outweighed the fear of being called a snitch, or if they were equal on the scale. 

The word ‘whore’ was a loaded one for you. Every time you heard it you could almost feel the skin being torn from your abdomen, the searing pain as it was being written across your belly. The memories of everything that had happened, both out in the world without walls as well as within them, plagued your mind at the slightest reminder. But being called a snitch meant that people felt betrayed, thrown under the bus for reasons made up in their minds, and that could mean danger for you. Actions have consequences after all. Even if said actions hadn’t in fact been committed. 

The presence of the cut on your chest made itself known as the first sign of healing picked at you. The small pinches and shocks were only made worse whenever the paper towel moved slightly, or you drew a breath too deeply and expanded your ribcage. It seemed even sitting still was cause enough for pain. But it was still the best bet. After all, a doll placed on the shelf stays there until moved. So you stayed put. 

O.o.O.o.O

The news of the bust travelled quickly between both officers and inmates alike. Everyone heard about Doggett being taken down to Max, with potentially up to ten years added to her sentence. The circumstances surrounding her state – bruised up with blood dripping down her face – were muddled and amplified in a game of telephone between the inmates. 

The rumours spread just as quickly that one should not piss off officers Rogers or Barnes, or hurt you in any way, because then they would all end up like Doggett and get the same change of scenery, and that was not a wish high up on anyone’s list. Had Doggett not bragged and boasted about her plans or the achievements already made in her plot to make you pay for everything you’d done, her departure might have gone down a bit more discreetly. But now the assumptions where that her not so kind interactions with you had been sniffed out by the officers, and that their counteractions were simply their way of evening the score. 

The officers all had Steve’s back, knowing him to be an honest and righteous man, so any suspicions of foul play were quickly shot down by that fact. That, and the fact that the officers all knew that the meth-heads were the most likely to fall off the bandwagon and commit more crimes even when in prison. They all commended Steve and showed their admiration for his intuition as he passed them with the inmate in cuffs, preparing everything for the transfer down the hill. There were papers to be filled out, tags to be changed and forms to be brought before finally heading to the van for Doggett’s send-off, which Steve saw to in person, not wanting to risk anything. 

Caputo made the call for thorough inspections and sweeps to be done once he saw the evidence against Doggett presented on his table. If there was a risk of drugs being within prison grounds – and the evidence showed their existing presence – then a sneak attack was more than qualified. Caputo was no fool, knowing the prison rumour mill worked harder than the devil, and that the news of Doggett being caught would travel fast among the inmates. He gave the order for the officers to get to work right away, before anyone had time to hide anything. 

Bucky, who was back in the bubble again to keep an eye on you, got the news by none other than their newfound top dog Brock Rumlow. He busted in through the backdoor from the corridor, a brow raised amusingly as he closed the door behind him again. Bucky refrained from sighing at the mere presence of the man, and instead nodded his head in a somewhat welcoming manner, before going back to staring out the window or solving a crossword. 

Rumlow came up beside him, leaning his weight on both hands planted on the counter, and looked out just the same. The inmates were mostly chatting, others were hidden inside their cubes to supposedly take a nap. 

“Looks calm,” Brock said, to which Bucky just raised his brows and went back to solving another riddle. 

It wasn’t that this Rumlow fella was the most annoying asshole Bucky had ever met, but—okay, yes it was. There was just something about him that rubbed Bucky the wrong way, something in his energy that just oozed of something wicked, and he knew Steve felt the same. They were usually pretty good at judging character, or at least when a vindicating vendetta didn’t cloud their judgement, and there was just something that told him not to let down his guard near this man. 

“We have orders to raid and pillage,” Rumlow said when there was no further response, earning Bucky’s attention for real this time. 

Raid and pillage? That’s what he calls a sweep? What was this, a Viking expedition? 

“Really?” Bucky asked, placing the magazine on the counter with a ‘slap’. 

Brock nodded, standing up straight again to instead cross his arms over his chest. Bucky had a hunch that everything this man did was an attempted display of masculinity and power, and Bucky for one did not care for it. But he let the man think he was the equivalent of ‘Alpha male’ if that’s what he needed to get out of bed in the morning. 

“Apparently someone named Doggett was found with both a weapon and drugs on her, so Caputo has ordered a sweep,” Brock said, and that certainly earned a smile from Bucky. 

He hadn’t actually had any concerns regarding Steve’s ability to get rid of Doggett, but to hear it confirmed was still happy news. And he had obviously done such a good job of it that a sweep was necessary, which calmed any nerves or thoughts of anything being suspicious. He would have to buy Steve a drink for this, ‘cause this was a cause for celebration. 

“Well,” Bucky said, getting up from his chair and standing tall next to his fellow officer. “Better get it over with then.” 

Brock smiled, raising his chin an inch or so to try and level with Bucky’s height, but it did him no good. He knew Bucky didn’t like him and he couldn’t give two fucks about that, but he hated the small hint of feeling inferior beside the both bigger and taller man, but he pushed it aside to focus on his task. 

“I’ll take the right side of the dorm,” he said and headed for the door. 

Bucky’s lopsided smile faltered at the mention, as the other officer passed him and opened the door into the dorm. Why would he specify a side like that? The guards usually just picked the side closest to them, and Bucky always made sure to take the side with your bunk, meaning the right side...

What Bucky didn’t know was that officer Rumlow had searched for you in the system, getting not only your inmate number, sentence time and the crime for which you were paying, but also your dorm and cube number. And he was more than intrigued by you, and wanted to meet the renowned Guard Killer, and get a good look at you for himself. Why else would he have offered to help check the B-dorm of all places? 

Rumlow walked out of the bubble with Bucky on his heel, planting himself to the right in front of the entire dorm and spoke loudly, 

“Listen up!” 

All the inmates looked up as the man bellowed, stopping whatever they were doing, and peeked out of their cubes to see what was going on, you included. You knew that officer Barnes had told you to stay put, but when a CO hollered, you knew better than to ignore it. 

Standing up caused your shirts to move, and you couldn’t help the wince from escaping your mouth, but gladly you were alone in your cube. Gina was stuck on kitchen duty still, spared from the demolition with only a surprise clean-up once she came back. 

You shuffled up to the high wall, holding onto it and just showing one side of your body as to not completely disobey officer Barnes should it be the wrong move. Your eyes jumped to his for a quick second, finding nothing but a steely stare around the room, and you immediately averted your eyes in case it would land on you.

The other guard was new. You hadn’t seen him around the prison before today, and by the looks of it, neither had most of the other inmates. Not knowing what to expect, everyone settled their nervousness by staying quiet and just waiting. The ones who didn’t fear the unknown scoffed or groaned loudly, but the new guard was having none of it. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he said coldly, eyes burrowing into the ones who had made any noise and causing you to jump. “This is a mandatory bunk inspection. Myself and officer Barnes will thoroughly check your cubicles for contraband, and if we find any... your ass is going straight down to the SHU, or Max depending on the find. And let me tell ya, you ain’t gonna like what you find there. Everybody, stay outside your cube and keep your mouths shut. If anyone speaks without being spoken to, you will be getting a shot, is that clear?” 

If the gentle tone officer Barnes had used when speaking to you had still managed to scare you, this new guard was on a whole new level entirely. You had no history with him, and you hoped it would stay that way, but he demanded respect like a rich man demanded everyone to kiss his ass upon first glance. So it was better to do as instructed as fast as possible. 

You stepped out of your cube completely, shuffling along the wall and looking down at the floor to keep from meeting either of the officers’ gaze. Ignoring the pain of the cut as well as you lip proved easier when fear had you in its grasp, not wanting to do anything to piss off the new guard, or the one you already knew was capable of reprimanding you should he see fit. You were in enough pain as it were. 

No one said anything as they stepped out of their bunks. Some were genuinely scared, some just stayed quiet to piss him off. If he said ‘shut up’, then they would shut up. But they were only rewarded with another shout from the officer. 

“I said, is that clear?!” 

You shrunk back, feeling the familiar trace of goosebumps travel up your spine at the booming voice of the officer. 

“Yes, sir,” the inmates all said, more annoyed than anything. 

But when it came out of your mouth it was all jagged and jumpy, like hypothermia had hit you hard and making your jaw quiver. But alas, it was only sheer terror. 

Bucky looked over at where you were standing, the frozen and timid stance nothing out of the ordinary, but now it tugged at his heartstrings. He wanted nothing more than to scoop you up and hold you, assuring you that it was all going to be okay, that you were safe. He knew you were scared and he wanted to take it away, make you feel safe and protected. But once again the pool of guilt and shame in his chest reminded him of his part played, reminded him of everything he had done. There was no way of his presence being calming to you, being a means of comfort and safety. Especially not in front of twenty other inmates, all looking for a reason to make your life even more of a living hell than it already was. So he just had to stay put and ride it out. 

Brock had spotted you from the get-go, not buying the whole shy-routine at all. He knew what you were capable of. The information in your file was detailed after all, even stating who many times you had stabbed your stepbrother before he bled to death on the living room floor. Someone who could and would wield a knife like that was not some shy and scared little mouse, no matter how hard she tried to make it seem like she was. You might have fooled the other officers, but Rumlow would not let himself fall for the act. 

Both officers got to work, Brock taking the right side of the dorm and Bucky being stuck with the left. You didn’t know whether to be relieved or scared by that fact. Steve and Bucky hadn’t been all that nice in their previous inspections (though the latest one sure had been neater than most) but something told you that this officer would leave the biggest mess yet. Or at least as big of a mess as Steve had on your first day in prison, ruining pretty much every belonging you had. You had a sneaking suspicion that officers Barnes and Rogers were intentionally not breaking your things anymore (though not completely trusting their motives to be that of sheer kindness), and that that privilege would be lost with the new guard. 

Loud clattering of both metal and plastic sounded in the room, the thudding of matrasses hitting the floor or pools of water usually following, as well as paper tearing as the officers rummaged through books and boxes. Every belonging was chucked out of the lockers and scattered across the concrete, various things broken under their heavy boots as they went on to the next cubicle. Soon it was your turn. 

Once the officer emerged from the chaos he had caused in the other cube, kicking the disarray at his feet, you felt a shiver run up your spine from his mere attention as he focused on you. You had found a very interesting spot on the floor, eyes glued to it despite his growing presence, feeling the heavy energy ooze off of him as he zeroed in on you. 

Most of the officers didn’t exude such an intense or hostile energy – not counting officers Rogers and Barnes, of course – but this new guard surely did. He felt like a thundercloud ready to strike, dark and gloomy, his presence almost rumbling. And you certainly didn’t like that he lingered, standing completely still before you. 

Your eyes bounced around, staring at his boots, the floor, the hands on his belt and the tightening of their grip, but never his eyes. The furthest you got was a quick glance up to his chest, finding his name stitched into his shirt; B. Rumlow. 

“So…” he said, voice carrying both curiosity as well as a hint of animosity. “You’re Harper.” 

It felt like a weird statement, and it wasn’t even a question therefore it took you a moment to respond. Was he waiting for an answer? 

“Ye-yes, sir,” you said, praying it was right. 

“Hmm,” he muttered, and you felt his eyes travel the length of your body. 

You weren’t at all what he had expected. There was no way of hiding the nasty cut on your lip, the bruise looking painful and swollen as it spread out across your chin and cheek, or the way you tried to make yourself as small as was physically possible; shoulders up to the high heavens, hiding the timid expression you carried, the way your fingers fiddled with the worn hem of your shirt, arms tense where they hung at your sides. So this was the renowned Guard Killer… Not much to look at in Brock’s opinion. 

He moved so suddenly that it made you jump, but he didn’t move towards you, the opposite in fact. He rounded you and the wall and went to town on your bunk instead. You listened as he tore everything apart, dropping it carelessly on the floor and walking all over it. You peeked around the wall, curiosity getting the better of you like every other inmate during sweeps, and it turned out to be a bad choice. Officer Rumlow spotted you, and for the first time during his inspections he gave a damn about it. 

“What the fuck are you looking at, inmate?” he spat at you.

You gasped and hid behind the wall once again, eyes jumping all over the place for any salvation, but all you got were cold stares from the inmates. The only one whose icy stare wasn’t directed at you belonged to Bucky, who forced his jaw to stay shut and not call out the man for being rude or insolent. This was a prison, and you were an inmate after all. 

His footfalls almost made the floor quake as Rumlow stomped up to the doorway, knowing you were on the other side. Even though you heard him, as soon as he came around the corner a whimper fell from your mouth as you jumped and pressed back against the wall to keep from running, the flight response sounding every alarm bell in your system. 

“Thought I said to stay outside your fuckin’ cube!” 

The ones who had already feared the new officer still did after he shouted, their mouths shut tightly and hoped not to draw any attention. But those who didn’t mind bugging him just smiled as you were being torn a new one, watching as you shrunk back. 

“I’m-I’m s-sorry, sir...” 

But apparently it wasn’t good enough. 

Brock stepped out completely, his jaw clenched shut and brows down in a harsh scowl, and grabbed a fistful of your shirt and pulled you towards him. 

“Agh...” you couldn’t help but whimper, not knowing whether it was out of fear or pain. 

The officer’s rough hand scratched right over the wound on your chest, ripping the paper towel out of place. 

“You—”

He started barking at you, but stopped himself once he got a tiny glimpse of a blood-soaked piece of tissue peeking out from your shirt. He felt you tremble in his grip, your hands grasping his arm for stability to keep from falling right into his chest. His eyes shot up to yours, but you wouldn’t meet his gaze. A small smirk made its way across his lips at the notion, his fingers tightening their grip. 

You stood frozen on the spot, the officer holding you in place in an unrelenting grip, almost lifting you up and closer to him the more time passed by. Your hands were glued to his forearm to keep  
yourself upright, not daring to move. A shiver ran up your spine, your jaw quivering endlessly as fear held you in a grasp as firm as the officer’s. And it was not lessened when his other hand came up and moved the collar of your shirt from your body to have an even closer look. 

"...don’t...” was all you could whisper, closing your eyes tightly as to not see his leering eyes. 

To be under scrutiny was nothing new to you, but despite the experience you still hated the feeling of eyes raking down your body. The exposure was even worse. The man literally removed the only shield you had to keep you safe from the eyes of the world, and no matter how small of an opening he made by simply pulling slightly at the collar, it felt like he was going to completely rip the shirt off your body. 

Officer Rumlow didn’t seem to like the insubordination of even such a small and almost insignificant word, and his eyes set firmly on your face once again. 

“What you say, inmate?” he spat, despite his tone being lowered once again. 

You couldn’t help but try to plead with the man, hoping for some saving grace or act of kindness. 

“Please, I...” 

But he didn’t seem to want to hear it. Brock scoffed at your trembling form and pulled harder on the collar to reveal your skin. 

Despite the small nicks and scars littering your skin, the freshly made cut was what caught his attention, even following a trickle of blood as it made its way closer and closer to the seam of your breast. A sense of amusement spread in the officer’s body at the sight. He hadn’t even been here for a day and he was already getting to see you covered in blood. It seemed like he was not the only one in this prison whose agenda involved your pain. 

He let go of your collar, the sudden change causing a gasp to fall from your lips. He ignored it like he ignored the other signs of your discomfort, and sighed annoyingly. 

“Have you been to the medic’s office?” he asked, still holding your shirt in his hand. 

“N... n-no, sir, I...”

He didn’t let you finish, cutting you off mid stutter. 

“What? You thought you’d take care of it yourself? Typical.” 

Brock let go of your shirt and your hands fell down quicker than a mouse escaping a mousetrap to avoid any added anger. But instead, he gripped your upper arm in an unforgiving grip, his fingers digging in to your skin hard enough to leave bruises, even through the layers of fabric. 

“Agh...” you whimpered, and earned a yanking to shut you up. 

The officer turned you around and started heading for the door. Or so he planned to anyway. Rumlow hadn’t seen him coming, but suddenly officer Barnes was standing in his path, feet set firmly apart and blocking him from taking any further steps. Bucky looked from his fellow officer and down at you, noticing the pained expression painted on your face, the discomfort clearly rooted in the officer’s harsh grip. 

Bucky stared straight into the eyes of his colleague, the determination clear as day. No matter what Rumlow would say to plead his case, he was not walking out of here with you. 

“Where’re you taking her?” Bucky asked, keeping his voice formal.

Rumlow had to catch himself from scowling at the man, and instead contorted his face into that of sheer calm. But his fingers dug in even deeper, and the twitch of your eyebrows was not overlooked by Bucky.

“She’s hurt,” he said. “I’m taking her to the medic’s office.” 

Rumlow tried to sidestep Bucky, but a simple shoulder set firmly stopped him in his tracks. 

“I’ll take her,” Bucky said, a hand finding your other arm. 

The grip was kinder, gentler, but it still left no room to move or try anything. You felt the panic start to build in your chest, the walls closing in as you were caged between the two men and the wall with twenty inmates looking on. You tried to focus on your breathing, using the pain in your chest to ground yourself in the present. 

Brock gave Bucky a smile contaminated with ill-will and sarcasm, but he went with it anyway. 

“I’m sure I can find medical just fine,” he said. 

“I’m responsible for her,” Bucky countered, and his grip started shifting from gentle to firm. 

“So am I,” Brock said, not backing down. “We’re both correctional officers in charge of the inmate’s safety, aren’t we?” 

The smile Bucky gave the man could only be described as tense as they stood there like it was a standoff. You tried not to move, not to make a sound or even breath should you disturb the stiff silence that fell between them. If shit were to hit the fan, you’d rather not be caught in the crossfire. Although, you were sure you would be to blame no matter what you did. 

There was a small tug of Bucky’s mouth to feign a smile in an attempt mimic the action of being cool and level-headed before speaking. 

“Even though I have no doubt about your capability when it comes to taking an inmate’s safety into your own hands, Rogers and I have primary responsibility over Harper. Approved by the higherups. We have last say. So I’ll take her to see the nurse and get her checked out, and you can finish raiding and pillaging the dorm.”

The tone of dismissal was not missed by Brock, neither was the mocking use of his own words against him. But he just had to paint on a smile and keep from arguing. 

Bucky gave a quick and not to soft yank on your arm to release you from Rumlow’s grip, whose eyes fell down to yours at the action. He felt like a kid whose candy was being taken away from him. But Bucky hadn’t finished.

“I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finishing up on your own. After all, minimum is so much calmer than Max, and you seemed to be able to handle yourself there.” 

Brock gave a tight-lipped smile at the backhanded compliment, nodding his head with a half-hearted scoff through his nose. 

“No problem,” he said as he placed his hands on his hips in an attempt to act casual, even though there was a storm raging inside him. 

Bucky nodded sharply once at the man, the superior smile still present, and turned on his heel and started dragging you out of there. Oh, yeah. That man was the biggest asshole he had ever met. 

You felt like a toddler being dragged away by an angry parent as officer Barnes left the dorm with heavy steps. His grip had not lessened, quite the opposite. The entire time the two men had been talking,  
you had felt his fingers dig in more and more, and the pain was getting harder to ignore. He held you so firmly it felt like pins and needles down your entire arm. And the set line of his shoulders didn’t exactly make the officer look calm, or in any way open to a suggestion of maybe easing up, so you just kept your mouth shut per usual and tried to keep up. 

Bucky felt like a bomb ready to explode. Had he been forced to endure the company of officer Rumlow for even a second longer he would have pummelled the man to the ground. His cocksure attitude, his arrogant posture all read of a man who was used to getting his ass kissed by everyone around. But Bucky for one would never sink to such a level. _He_ was the experienced officer here. _He_ was the one who should be getting his ass kissed if anyone. But he doubted that officer Rumlow would ever consider himself inferior, even when the proof was staring him right in the eye. 

Bucky took another corner entirely lost in thought, dragging you along like the toddler you very much felt like, yanking on your arm yet again. Only this time he yanked even harder, and you just couldn’t hide the pain. 

“Uh...” 

You tried to be as silent as possible, just going along with whatever officer Barnes did and hoped that you would go unnoticed. But apparently squeaking like a dog’s toy meant that you were noticed. 

Bucky immediately let up his grip once he heard your wince of pain. 

“Shit,” he said, looking down at you apologetically. “Sorry, Jess.”

But he was not the only one to apologize. After all, it was your fault the officers were both pissed off in the first place, right? It was always your fault. 

“No, no, it-it was my fault, sir,” you sputtered. “I-I should f-follow better, I’m sorry.” 

You were sorry for making officer Rumlow mad, you were sorry for making Bucky mad and you were sorry for not doing a good enough job off simply walking next to him. Couldn’t you do anything right for even a second? It was all your fault. And you were sorry. 

Bucky stopped walking, pulling you to a stop with him and you stood frozen beside him, scary scenarios flooding your mind, one worse than the next. He was still holding onto you since there were potentially people lurking around every corner and he didn’t want to be caught not following protocol, but his grip had eased up. He and Steve were both under scrutiny from both inmates and fellow officers alike, and he knew he had eyes on him more often than not, and even in a seemingly vacant hallway near medical there could still be stragglers. 

He let out a sigh filled with resentment and regret, mentally scolding himself for taking his frustration out on you. And in a physical way at that. He looked down at you, taking in the fearful tightness of your shoulders, the bowed head to keep your eyes averted and the fidgeting fingers holding onto the sleeves of your hoodie. Then add the slight tremble to your frame that Bucky could swear was from trepidation more than anything else.

“No, it was my fault,” he said, disappointment clear in his voice. “Just thinking about that asshole of a new guard is all. I shouldn’t have pulled at you like that. I’m sorry.” 

He was apologizing? What was this new side? Not only had he stopped you from pleasing him in an attempt to show gratitude, given you space and time alone (which ended badly but not because of Bucky), and now he was apologizing for tugging at your arm too hard? He didn’t even seem mad or disappointed in you. There must be something else lurking underneath, you thought. There was no way the officer was showing empathy and remorse out of the sheer kindness of his heart. There must be some other reason.

Your jaw quivered as you tried to find any words to speak aloud and try to put the blame back on you, where it should be. But your mind was so busy worrying what signs you might have missed, what motives there were for such a drastic change of behaviour. 

“I... uh... Th... uhm...” 

Bucky could almost physically see the strain of the cogs working inside your head, trying to make sense of the situation. Even though he didn’t understand the full measure of your confusion and struggle, he had a feeling that it had something to do with him apologizing for his behaviour. It seemed to be a rarity in your life to not be blamed all the time. It was even rare coming from him, seeing how he and Steve had behaved in the past, the things they had said. 

He didn’t want to rush you, instead giving you time to try and find your words. He didn’t sigh, he didn’t move or change his expression from that of a content listener, but it didn’t seem to stop your stuttering. 

“I’m so—” 

It was the closest you got to making even a beginning of a sentence, but it wasn’t what the officer wanted to hear. He didn’t accept your offering of remorse for your actions, therefore you didn’t dare to finish the word. And thankfully you didn’t have to try again. 

“Harper?” 

The voice was familiar to both you and Bucky, both turning your heads in the direction from whence it came, finding nurse Banner standing just outside the door to medical with an inmate’s file in his hands. 

Bucky shifted his weight comfortably on his feet, giving the nurse a soft smile. 

“Banner,” he said with a nod. 

Your heart was beating rapidly still from all the anxiety burrowed into the hollow of your chest, and the jump scare of having your name called out did little to ease it. But upon seeing the friendly face of the nurse, your pulse was slowly calming again. 

Bruce walked up to you and Bucky where you stood, the officer still keeping his gentle hold of you. 

“What brings you here?” he asked, closing the file with a rustle and looked from Bucky to you. 

The straightening of his back and the sigh to follow from Bucky seemed to be enough of an indicator that you were here seeking medical help. Again. 

“Are you hurt?” Bruce asked softly, looking down at you. 

You let out a shallow breath filled with worry, feeling the shame start to build. You couldn’t even keep out of trouble long enough to give the nurse a break from your company. And you had ended up bothering the COs once again. Look at that; it was all your fault. 

“I...” you started, a shoulder sneaking higher and higher up in a lost attempt to sooth your nerves. 

Bucky saw the embarrassed blush creeping from your cheeks and down your neck. Though he couldn’t wrap his head around where the embarrassment of the situation came from, it wasn’t your fault that someone had hurt you. But you seemed to struggle with speaking up, so he did it for you. 

“According to officer Rumlow she’s hurt,” Bucky said, trying to keep the disdain out of his voice when mentioning the other officer. 

“Rumlow?” Bruce asked. “New guy?” 

Bucky gave an unamused raise of his brows. 

“Max guard. We’re a bit short-staffed at the moment so Caputo brought him up.” 

“Oh,” Bruce said with a small nod, before turning his attention back at you. “Where are you hurt?” 

Why did the questions always sound so easy when the answering was always hard? 

“Uh... my, uhm...” 

You were almost squirming in his grip at this point, so Bucky took it upon himself to once again intervene in hopes of helping you out. And by the small look of relief that flashed across your face before the awkwardness took over again, he did. 

“I think her chest,” he said. “I saw Rumlow, uh... checking there before he said anything about her being injured.” 

Bruce nodded understandably again. He gave the officer a knowing smile, both aware of what you were hiding underneath your clothes, and why even just speaking about it was mortifying for you. He appreciated the respect Bucky showed by not being too crass about it. 

“Right,” he said. “Well, I better take a look then.”

Bruce took a step to the side and held out his arm towards the doors to allow the officer to pass with you, but you weren’t done trying to get out of bothering him even more than you already had. 

“Y-you don’t have to, sir, I... I’m sure it’s f-fine.” 

Bucky had almost taken a step when you started talking, but stopped in his tracks to keep from pulling you along with him again. He gave Bruce what could only be described as another apologetic smile, which Bruce returned in kind. 

“I’m sure it’s nothing too serious,” Bruce said, wanting to agree but also help you if he could. “But I would like to take a look just to make sure, okay? Don’t want an infection to set in, now do we?” 

You couldn’t argue with that. It had been high on your list of worries when you realized that you were lying on the dirty floor of the bathroom with a fresh cut on your chest, and you doubted simply washing it off with water would keep the bacteria away. And you knew better than to argue. 

You nodded your head in a somewhat agreeing manner, and Bruce and Bucky both started walking, mentally dragging you with them even though your steps held no defiance. 

The examination room hadn’t changed since the last time you were in it. But then again, that was only a few days ago. You seemed just as at home there as you did in your bunk, which was almost a scary thought. Had you not lived through what you had, it would be.

“Have a seat,” Bruce instructed as he went to his desk to discard of the file he had been carrying. 

Bucky let go of you and planted himself by the doors as he should when escorting an inmate to medical. His hands subconsciously went to his belt where they held on in a restful grasp, his feet widening their stance as he observed the examination soon to start. It was all the usual when in medical. But the worry and care for the inmate was not usual, although it was quickly becoming so when it came to you. Bucky had almost grown accustomed to the increasing beat of his worried heart when seeing you in pain, the sweat beading on his palms and the tight clench of his jaw. Almost. 

Sitting down on the cold and firm cot thankfully didn’t hurt your core all that much anymore, but the movement of course caused both the paper towel as well as your undershirt to graze to wound. You visibly winced, a pained twitch of your brows giving it away. You looked down on the floor and hoped that no one noticed. 

But Bucky did notice, and he didn’t think it was due to whatever you were hiding underneath your shirt. He was certain it was due to having to sit down that caused you pain, and the reminder was not a welcomed one. 

He remembered the way you begged, the way your cried and screamed as you were hauled over that table top and held down by his own hand squeezing at your neck. He remembered the tremor of your body, the fear in every muffled cry as he tore your pants down your legs to reveal you. And the scream you elicited once he started pushing in... How could he ever have remembered it with fondness? 

Bucky was sure he brought the whole room down with his drastic shift of energy, darkening the entire room in his gloom and pity. It consumed him. Tearing at his heart and ripping his soul to shreds. And he deserved it. After everything he had done to you, after that night... he deserved it. 

His eyes found yours for a split second before your gaze shot away again as if burned. It wasn’t enough to get a clear indication of what was going through your head, what you were feeling, but it gave a small hint of it. The fear in your eyes was so familiar that he couldn’t help but think you were remembering that night in the laundry room too. And then it dawned on him; what if that was all you could think about in his presence? 

“Okay, then,” Bruce said, and efficiently breaking the tense silence Bucky had caused. “Let’s see what we got.” 

Bucky cleared his throat to rid of the signs of choking sadness at the grave his mind had dug, and brought his focus back on the present. He needed to be alert should anything happen. Of course, that used to mean ‘ready to subdue the inmate should she act out’, but with you the only thought in his head was ‘ready to help her if she needs it’. So he focused. 

You on the other hand just tensed up even more. The closer nurse Banner got, the closer the impending need to remove the articles of clothing came as well. It was a stupid thing to fear, you knew, seeing as both Bruce and Bucky had seen your entire torso exposed to the light of the world, both having seen... _that_. But showing it, any of it, still felt like you were voluntarily walking on hot coal for others entertainment. 

Bruce brought the swivel stool up to the cot and sat down in front of you, a relaxed smile on his face to reassure you of your safety. But you didn’t look at him. You just sat there, timid and frozen by the growing tension in every muscle, slowly turning to stone with a lump of worry wedged in your throat. 

“Could you please show me?” Bruce asked, knowing to tread carefully with you. 

You hated that he was so kind, so understanding. It was easier to obey when orders were shouted at you, or when disobeying held the silent promise of pain. But with nurse Banner you were given a choice. Or at least the appearance of a choice. 

You swallowed dryly, trying to control the endless quiver of your jaw and speak, but you stayed as frozen and scared as before. 

Bruce’s smile widened a little, and he drew a breath which almost resembled as sigh, but his tone was still light and patient when he spoke. 

“How ‘bout this?” he said. “You sit on the side of the bed instead, with your back to officer Barnes. Would that be better?” 

You didn’t want to be rude. And turning your back on the officer would be considered rude, therefore a punishment might follow. But it might be a risk worth taking, just to get through the exam. 

Your looked over at where Bucky was standing. He hadn’t moved in any way, and he didn’t seem offended or mad at the suggestion nurse Banner had made. Perhaps he understood better now when he had already seen what your body looked like. Perhaps he’d rather never see any of it again. At least not the ones already seen. If you turned your back to him, however brief exposure, he would still be forced to endure the sight of your back. 

You managed to draw a new and somewhat calming breath, before finding the courage to nod. The smile Bruce gave you was soft, and he made sure to give you a moment before pursuing. He turned his head to the officer, both exchanging knowing smiles, before he got up and moved his chair to the side of the cot. 

“Okay,” he said as he sat himself down again, and you swivelled around. 

You knew officer Barnes was watching, but his gaze didn’t feel heavy where they landed on your body. It wasn’t comforting, not in the least, but it wasn’t exactly menacing either, and that was a relief. 

You faced Bruce, finding his soft smile still there and just as warm, and nodded your head in agreeance. 

“Let’s start by unzipping your hoodie, shall we?” he said. “That might be enough, we’ll see.” 

You did as he said, and dragged the zipper down enough to open it wide, and with trembling fingers you reached up and pulled down the collar of your shirt to reveal the wound, feeling it pinch as the dried blood was ripped off. Bruce waited patiently, letting you take it at your own pace, hopefully not hurting yourself too much in the process. When the cut was bared, he lifted his head to get a better look. 

“Hmm,” he muttered, moving his head to try and see it better from all angles. “Okay, that’s enough.” 

You let go of the collar and the shirt fell back into place, feeling like a slap right across the wound. Bruce sighed, giving Bucky a quick glance where he stood still as a statue, before turning back to you again. 

“It needs stitches.” 

Of course it did. Your usual luck had once again graced you with the worse side of itself, making sure you were as troublesome as could be... Hadn’t the good nurse already done enough for you? 

Stitches meant that you had to take your shirt off. Simply pulling the collar to the side didn’t expose it enough, and he would need to clean it out before he did anything else. You felt the prickling of tears begin to sting at the corners of your eyes at the mere thought of having to expose yourself to him, as well as the officer standing behind you. Sure, this time you would still have your bra on, but that was not enough coverage. The planes of your skin that would still be visible were covered in scars and bruises yet to heal. If no one saw them, if you didn’t see them, you could pretend that they didn’t even exist in the first place. 

Bruce saw how adamant you were, knowing what it was that you feared. And he wanted to make it as easy on you as possible, but he still had to get to the wound in order to stitch it up. 

“How ‘bout this?” he said, apparently another idea in mind. “Once we’ve removed the shirt, you can put the hoodie back on? I just need to see the wound, the rest could be covered.” 

When bucky heard the kind offer Banner was giving you, he couldn’t hide his smile. He loved that you were shown such kindness, such care. Banner may have seen what littered your body and what horrors you had lived through at the hands of your stepbrother, but knew only fragments of your history with Bucky, only what Bucky himself had shared and that was vague. Yet he somehow knew that such a simple offer would go miles. And it did. 

You nodded your head, wanting to get it over and done with as soon as possible and be out of their hair, and let them go back to doing more important things than simply tending to your wounds. Again. You just hoped that officer Barnes would take offense at the obvious display of insubordination by turning your back, by not revealing your body if you could help it. Sure, Bruce had been the one to offer the solution, but you were still the one agreeing to it. 

Bruce held up your hoodie to cover you when you pulled the other shirt off, even turning his head and looking away to give you as much privacy as he could offer. And you were surprised to find that Bucky had done the same. He could probably still see the large white and pink lines crossing each other across the expanse of your back out of the corner of his eye, but at least he wasn’t blatantly staring at them. Or the nicks, or the bruises. Some even caused by him and Steve. 

You quickly put the hoodie back on, zipping it up to cover the horrid word from the world, not wanting to feel even the chill of the air brush against it. Anything to keep it from existing. But you didn’t pull the zipper up as high as you wanted, remembering what else your body bore that might be of interest to the nurse. 

“Do... Do you w-wanna check the, uh... the other wound too, sir?” 

You’d had no problem with it except for the tedious itching, but you knew that was a good sign. But Bruce would most likely ask to see it, so you might as well extend the olive branch and offer him a look right away. 

Bruce smiled endearingly. 

“Sure,” he said, poking and prodding around the area once he put a glove on. “Looks like it’s healing just fine.” 

You gave him a tight-lipped smile right back, keeping the panic to a minimum even after being touched. You knew it was only going to get worse, more poking and prodding coming up. 

Bucky had almost forgotten that you had a stab wound healing on your belly. How could he forget? It seemed as if his mind chose to not remember the pain you had been forced to endure, blocking it or reshaping the events into something to look back on with affection. He had subconsciously done it with pretty much everything. But the proof of what had really happened was sitting right before him, trying not to flinch at the stinging antiseptic being swabbed around the wound. Yet another one to the collection. 

“Sorry,” Bruce said on repeat, even though the only sign of pain was a blink too much, or the tension of your muscles. 

“It’s okay,” you said every time, hoping to sooth the nurse’s worries, but your voice held no conviction. 

Bruce put down the cotton swabs on the tray. 

“I’ll just get the anaesthesia,” he said, making ready to get up. 

“That’s fine, I don’t need it,” you said, before remembering your place. 

You had spoken out of turn, opposing what the nurse thought was best and claimed to know best yourself instead. You drew a shaky breath and looked down at the floor. 

“Sorry...” you whispered, preparing yourself for the scolding to come after such insolence. 

But none came. Not from the nurse, not from the officer whose guilt was building and building the more you had to push through. The shakiness of your voice could not be hidden even if you tried – which you always did – and Bucky had to stop himself from going over to the cot and taking you in his embrace to comfort you and tell you that it was okay to speak your mind. Tell you that you had worth. And that he was sorry. He was so, so sorry. 

“It’s okay,” Bruce said instead, voice as gentle as always with you. “If you don’t want it, you don’t have to. But it’s gonna hurt. It’s a flat area with bone underneath, so it’s gonna pull and pinch quite a bit.”

You knew that. You knew exactly which places hurt to stitch up or bandage, or where the gauze wrapped over a burn hurt more due to the needed movement. You knew because you had already done it so many times. And you bore the scars to prove it. 

“I know.”

Bruce felt a bit stupid for telling you that it was going to hurt to stich up a cut on the chest. Especially when there were several healed ones staring back at him, all prominent on different spots on your chest and torso telling him that you knew more than well what it would feel like. He wouldn’t be surprised if you yourself had taken care of more than a few of them. 

“Okay,” he said, no sass, no annoyance. 

As Bruce worked in silence, you kept your eyes firmly set on the floor to keep from bothering him with your gaze. You weren’t really curious to see what he was doing, you could feel it well enough and you had seen it done in the mirror more than a handful of times. But that didn’t keep Bruce’s eyes from searching yours every once in a while, looking for any clues of discomfort. He found none. 

Your face was like set in stone, and your eyes looked vacant wherever they were looking. Perhaps you weren’t even present anymore. Perhaps you were trapped in your mind, trapped in memory. Perhaps you were simply trapped inside your body, forced to endure the never-ending pain your body was used to succumbed to, but never really found a home in. Perhaps you were so used to it that you saw no other way. 

Perhaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT QUESTION!
> 
> We need a name for our little fandom, the fans of Blood must have blood... These are the suggestions that have been given:
> 
> Bloodies  
> Revengers  
> Cellmates  
> Harpies
> 
> Please let me know which one floats your boat in the comments, and if none do, give me another suggestion and we'll have another vote the next chapter :)
> 
> Don't forget to check out my Tumblr account where I post pics, gifs and snippets from the fic to boost the experience of it, along with some truly awesome fanart! :D
> 
> https://jojjokiwi.tumblr.com/


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What actions need to be taken to keep you safe?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my Harpies! :D 
> 
> Yes, that's right, the fandom has a name! Since we're all Harper in a way, we are now the Harpies! 
> 
> I'm sorry for the wait, but I have a lot of things going on at the moment, aaaaand one of those things is trying to get myself an apartment! I'M MOVING OUT OF MY PARENTS' HOUSE! AGAIN! It has affected my ability to write more than I'd like to admit, but hopefully that will soon change :) 
> 
> So please bear with me for the time being, and hopefully things will improve once more <3 
> 
> Without further ado; Enjoy! 
> 
> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Medical examination, talk of various abuse

Rumlow felt snubbed of his opportunity when Bucky had walked away with you and left him to finish the sweep alone, where he had come up empty as expected, save for a few illicit objects which only led to a shot on the inmate’s record. Had he gotten his way, he would have been the one to take you down to medical, and before getting there you would have needed medical attention for a whole different reason. But he reminded himself that it was only his first day working at minimum, and that there would be more chances coming his way. He just had to be patient. 

If there was one thing that Brock Rumlow despised, it was lying, murdering fuckheads who got away with it. And when that lying, murdering fuckhead had murdered a fellow guard – connection to said guard existent or not – all bets were off. Millers had still been an officer; walking the same beat as everyone else, respectable like the rest of them and spent his time willingly locked away in a prison, and that made things personal. 

Brock wasn’t a complete fool. He had seen the footage that had been leaked, seen the pictures and the clips being forwarded on various media platforms, and he knew that Millers hadn’t been all that innocent. He had seen the way Nate had cut you open and heard the pride in his voice that you were even conscious, which if Brock was being honest was a similar thought to his own. He had also seen some of the clips that included Millers and his friends, and the teasing and mocking before what Rumlow assumed would be a sexual assault. But things like that could be staged though, or simply a roleplaying game. Perhaps you had been in on the whole thing. 

He figured the cutting, the severe beatings and burns shown in some of the clips weren’t staged or consensual, so he didn’t have you pegged as a closeted freak, at least not completely. He understood that Millers had hurt you in ways you wished he hadn’t, but he also understood that the man might have had reason to do so. He was a correctional officer after all. Perhaps he took his job home with him, the correcting simply taken up a notch or two. Brock himself knew how easy it was to get stuck in the mindset of commanding officer; having to be on his toes and ready to step in should a situation arise. Hell, he found himself in similar situations to his work more often than not, so why would it have been any different for Millers? 

No matter the case, Nate Millers didn’t deserve to be slaughtered like a pig, left to bleed out on the floor while you got the shortest sentence Brock had ever heard of for such crimes. If anything, you should be locked away in Max for the rest of your life, not walking freely along the halls of minimum security. But if the mountain didn’t come to Mohammed, then Mohammed had to come to the mountain. And he was ready to chip away until there was nothing left but a molehill. Then a mine, with nothing but dead, rotten coal in her veins. 

That thought managed to lift his spirits again, letting go of the hostility against officer Barnes and the snubbed opportunity, at least for the time being. He wouldn’t drop it completely, he never did when it came to people like Barnes or Rogers. They thought they were all that and some more, high-and-mighty wiseguys with little time for anyone else, and that just didn’t sit well with him. He never seemed to get along with men like that. But the fact that the qualities he saw in the other officers held a high similarity to his own was completely lost on him. 

Rumlow was rummaging through the stack of papers he had to go through in order to get settled in at his new workplace, currently alone in the mailroom, but not for long. Steve had just come back from his little trip down the hill where he had merrily left Doggett to get settled in, starting with a solitary cell in the ad seg unit. 

As soon as he walked through the door to the mailroom, Steve’s eyes landed on the turned back of officer Rumlow, but there was no mistaking who it was. Steve felt a slight tightening in his shoulders at the sight, but brushed it off and decided not to get into it right now. His mind was elsewhere, stuck on you and whatever pain you must be in after what Doggett had done. Apparently she had cut you, and he needed to make sure that you were okay asap. He just had to drop off the papers given to him down at Max, then he would be on his way to see you, as well as talk to Bucky and inform him on what he knew. Steve knew by now that you were not inclined to tell people if you were hurt, your broken wrist just being one of the occasions to prove the point. 

Rumlow heard the presence of someone behind him, and turned his head a second or two after Steve walked in. In his hands Brock held the newest version of the prison layout map which he was trying to learn by heart, but once he spotted the Chip to Bucky’s Dale, he forced a small smile. But Steve beat him to the greetings. 

“Rumlow,” Steve said with a nod, and went to the counter next to the already occupied one.

“Rogers.” 

Steve filed the papers he needed to as quick and accurate as possible, not wanting to be forced to exchanged more pleasantries than what was courteous. But apparently Rumlow disagreed. Or maybe he was just in feeling chatty. 

“Met the Guard Killer,” he said, and Steve’s mood turned sour. 

He hated the vile nickname that Rumlow had bestowed upon you. It held no regards to the truth, or what had actually happened between you and your stepbrother. It didn’t matter that Millers had been a correctional officer, he was still a horrible monster who had hurt you beyond belief, and had died as a result of his own actions. And there should be no penance for saving your own life, no matter how it was done. 

Steve let out a sigh, not even trying to hide the irritation. 

“Her name’s Harper.”

Rumlow looked up from his papers and stared at the other man’s profile, which did little to hide the aggravation or tension. He found it odd that both CO Barnes and Rogers were so insistent of rectifying everything when it came to you. Was there something they didn’t let on? 

“You and Barnes are responsible for her, I understand,” he said curiously, fishing for any clues. 

Steve turned his head for a brief second. 

“That’s right.” 

It wasn’t a secret that he and Bucky were now in charge of you, not by a longshot, but it was strange that Rumlow had learned that so quickly. But he knew there had been a sweep done, so perhaps it was even Bucky who had told him since he had met you already. Still, the man had only been at camp for half a day, and both times when Steve had met him, he had referenced you. 

“Why this interest in Harper?” Steve asked, practically taking the words out of Brock’s mouth. 

But Brock didn’t feel cornered or worried in anyway, and didn’t mind answering the other officer’s questions. Perhaps the favour would be returned if he did. 

“Just heard a lot about her, is all,” he said with a slight shrug, speaking truthfully. “Not every day you see a convicted murderer in minimum security.” 

Steve felt his fuse burning shorter by the second. The way Rumlow was speaking led him to believe that he had absolutely no humane emotions or principles at all. Instead of suggesting that you were a danger to the other inmates or officers given your crime, perhaps he should be asking _why_ you had gotten such a lenient sentence from the judge. One does not get a mere five years for murder unless the circumstances told of it. 

But then again, Steve himself had swallowed every hateful thought or comment without much question in the past, so perhaps he wasn’t in a position to judge. But he knew better now, and so should Rumlow. The evidence of your blamelessness and what you had already lived through was still floating around on various platforms.

“She’s not a murderer,” Steve said, voice slightly softer now. “It was a self-defence situation gone wrong.” 

“Hm,” Rumlow mused. “You seem pretty sure of that.”

Steve closed his eyes for just a second, feeling the brief understanding for the other man’s view being swept away just as quickly as it appeared. He took a breath, then turned to face Rumlow. 

“It’s pretty obvious given the footage that’s been leaked, showing Millers abusing her to such an extent that he left permeant damage. After what he had already put her through at that point, there’s no way she would have just picked up a knife and stabbed him out of pure spite. She was too scared for that.” 

Steve didn’t know whether to be relieved that he understood your circumstances so well, understood what had happened to you and how you had become the person you were today, or be mortified that he had been so blind to it before. Had he just listened to that voice in the back of his mind telling him that something wasn’t right, that you weren’t a coldblooded killer getting off on an easy sentence, he wouldn’t have hurt you like he did. He wouldn’t have played the part he had chosen to play. The familiar tug of guilt and shame ate away at his heart and soul all the same, drowning him in it. 

But Brock didn’t see it yet. He was still convinced that despite Millers’ wrongdoings, you still deserved to pay for taking his life. In his eyes, you killing a fellow correctional officer was an attack on all of them, and he would make you pay for that. Whatever Millers had done to you in the past, whatever marks were left on your body, he believed were justified. 

“Apparently not, seeing as she managed to dice him,” Rumlow countered, and watched Steve’s jaw clench.

Steve turned his entire body towards Brock, a hand coming up to rest on his hip, though the grip was not restful at all. He spoke low, but kept the worst of his anger back.

“Perhaps you haven’t seen the footage—”

“Oh, I’ve seen the footage, alright,” Rumlow interrupted, and gave a grim scoff. “Amazing how resilient the human body can be, huh? How much it can take?”

Steve felt like he was going to be sick. How can a man who had devoted his life to care for inmates and keep them safe during their time in prison be so cruel and insolent to a person’s past? If he had in fact seen what Millers had done, he should understand your actions and why they happened. After all, it came crashing down on Steve and Bucky the second they saw the first clip, resilience or not be damned. 

“That’s what you’ve taken away from it?” Steve almost spat at Rumlow. “Seeing her be beaten within an inch of her life, and you’re calling it resilience?”

“It’s what it is, isn’t it?” Brock said, the tension in the room growing with every passing second. “It’s admirable really. So is... well, I guess _was_ Millers’ control.”

It was almost too easy to press Rogers’ buttons. All Brock had to do was pick his words and Steve was almost getting livid by the looks of it. His fists were clenched, his brows sinking down as his eyes bore into Brock’s, and veins were popping out of his neck as his blood all but boiled with anger. 

“Control?” Steve asked in disbelief.

“How he made sure to keep her alive,” Brock said as informative as a QVC commercial. “That he didn’t go too far in his correcting. Because he was a _correctional officer_ after all, and sometimes, well... things can get outta hand, right? It’s hard to keep your own emotions, your own actions in check. But he managed it.” 

Was Steve hearing this guy correctly? Was Rumlow seriously standing there in front of him, with a fuckin smirk on his face, stating that what Millers had done was admirable? He had abused you _for years_. He had beaten you, raped you, marked you in the most horrible ways imaginable, and this guy had the stomach to praise him for it. Not only that, but he dared to imply that they were all somehow the same due to them all being officers in the system. 

Steve could almost feel the crunch of his teeth from clenching his jaw too tight. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears, the anger sending a rush of adrenaline through his veins, almost begging him to defeat his enemy by any means necessary, by force if he needed to. But he kept it under wraps, though the venom in his voice could not be contained. 

“I don’t know what kind of twisted fucking gutter your mind is, but I can assure you... that if you ever speak about Millers in that way again, if you ever speak about _Jess_ in that way again... I will personally make sure that you get to reunite with the walls of maximum prison, but this time as a fuckin’ inmate.” 

Despite the flood of anger in his veins, Steve’s mind was as clear as ever. If there was one thing he knew, it was how to keep a level head in a conflict. If Rumlow was trying to get a rise out of him, which Steve suspected he was, he was sorely mistaken. 

Steve’s face was like set in stone as he stood there looking Rumlow straight in the eye, not wavering for a second. But the look his was given back, was nothing short of amusement. 

“Jess, huh?” 

Steve hadn’t even reflected on the fact that he had called you by your first name and not your last, which was commonly used by both inmates and officers alike. It was a slipup, he could cop to that, but he frankly didn’t care. Rumlow had no business talking about you the way he did, and Steve had done right to defend you. And he would continue to do so.

“Just stay away from her,” he said, and turned on his heel. 

Brock couldn’t, or maybe he just didn’t want to, hide his lopsided smirk and gleam in his eye when he saw the heated side of officer Rogers. All of that over a small comment and difference of opinions? Well, neither Steve nor Bucky would like what he had planned if this was all it took to rile them up. 

Steve was almost out the door when he heard Rumlow open his mouth. His tone was almost merry, all too cheery for the situation, especially after what Steve had said. 

“She’s in medical.”

Steve stopped in the doorway and turned around. Only this time, instead of a scowl, there were lines of worry forming on his forehead as he waited for Rumlow to go on.

“Your buddy took her to see the nurse. Just thought you should know that, seeing as you’re... _responsible_ for her and all.” 

The sarcastic care in his voice was enough to bring Steve’s furrowed brows back, as well as his jaw to clench when he fought back the snide remarks he wanted to serve up. Rumlow folded his arms, his chin raising just a tad to show he was almost enjoying toying with Steve’s emotions as his smirk stayed put. But Steve didn’t say anything back, instead just releasing an annoyed sigh through his nose for not getting the information right away. He turned his back again, and hurried out the door to go find you down in medical.

O.o.O.o.O

Bruce placed a bandage over the stitched cut, making sure to pat down the sticky edges with such care that he barely grazed your skin. You had sat silently and still the entire time, not saying a word, not moving a muscle. A slight twitch to your brows or the occasional shut of your eyes were the only tell-tales of any pain at all. You had moved when he told you, craning your neck and pulling your shoulder back to give him better access to the wound, but never once uttered a word of complaint. 

Bucky had stood by the door just as silent. He had watched the good nurse work in peace, seen his worried eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort, something he did continuously despite your lack of response. Bucky hadn’t been able to do anything besides just stand there and watch. He couldn’t even offer a consoling hand to hold or soothing rub of your back. But he wanted to. Boy, did he want to. 

He could no longer hide from the feelings bubbling up inside him, though they were still just a muddled mishmash of emotions and thoughts. The guilt he could recognize, as well as the disgrace and dishonour which refused to let up their grip on him, but the rest was hard to distinguish. He was afraid, yes. He was nervous, absolutely. And he was very much worried about the part of him that greatly resembled... _romantical feelings_. And that made his self-loathing skyrocket. 

He blamed it on almost losing you. That’s what caused it, nothing else. He reminisced on every moment he’d ever had with you, every interaction, every (one-sided) conversation. He was constantly thinking about you, and constantly trying to find moments that were good, where he was good. It was the only way not to drown in the rest. The truth. 

Perhaps his conscience misinterpreted his care and worry for _feelings_ , therefore causing his heart to up its beat and his palms to sweat whenever he was near you. He couldn’t hide from the fact that his body reacted to your presence, and the nature of past experiences with you were even more easily muddled due to that fact. Perhaps that was also why it was so easy to slip back into the fantasy, only changing certain aspects...

Bucky liked you. A lot. He liked your eyes, albeit wishing the fear wasn’t present all the time. He liked the curve of your face, the curves of your body matching well with it. And to be honest, he liked your submissiveness. He liked the fact that you were timid and shy, he wasn’t even going to pretend otherwise. He had learned more about himself during your stay at Litchfield than he had in his entire lifetime. And however shameful, however horrible his and Steve’s actions had been, he couldn’t deny the part of him that liked the power dynamic between you. It made him want to protect you, keep you safe. And that was a part he was fine with, at least in that aspect.

“There we are,” Bruce said finally, breaking Bucky of his daydreaming. 

Bucky drew a breath to wake himself up, smiling at Bruce once he looked over. But you didn’t move. You hadn’t been told to move, so you didn’t. Bruce looked over at the discarded shirt laying beside you on the cot, the bloodstains stale and dry. 

“Perhaps a clean shirt would be nice,” he said, looking at you apologetically, like it was his fault there was blood on your shirt to begin with. 

You swallowed dryly as you stared down at the floor. Leave medical with nothing but a hoodie on? No, no, that wasn’t enough! You needed more layers! Your zipper might break, or catch on something and pull open to reveal your shame. You couldn’t risk it. 

“Th... That’s okay, sir, I... I’ll manage.” 

Bruce gave a nonunderstanding furrow of his brow, his smile now more gentle than apologetic. 

“But it’s got blood on it. I’m sure a clean one would feel a lot nicer to put on?”

He was right, it would be a lot nicer, but that meant that you would have to leave here with nothing but a bra on underneath, and that you just couldn’t bear. 

You knew better than to argue, or be rude and contradict him, so you opted for asking nicely instead. 

“M-may I please put the sh-shirt on, sir?” 

Bucky’s heart almost broke in half when he heard the pitiful sound of your voice, afraid to even ask to put your own shirt back on. You didn’t need to ask, and Bruce wasn’t trying to push you, he was just trying to be nice and offer you a new shirt. But you were seemingly too afraid to go against whatever he said. 

Bruce felt a pang of remorse hit him when he realized that he had almost pushed you too far. It didn’t take much for the teeter to tip over into the depths of compliant servitude just to keep yourself from getting punished. But whatever kind of punishment suitable for not accepting a fresh shirt you had fictionalized in your head, he couldn’t understand. 

“No, Harper, I... I didn’t mean that you _had_ to get another shirt, I... If you want to wear the same one, that’s fine. I just meant that you didn’t have to. We could—we could get you another one if you want?” 

Bruce directed his offer/question at Bucky to make sure it was doable, and Bucky nodded his head affirmatively. 

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “I’ll radio Steve and he can bring one down for ya.” 

Bucky waited a beat, wanting to hear from you what you wanted to do. He had forced so many things on you, and if a clean shirt wasn’t what you wanted, then he wasn’t going to force you into one. Small steps, Barnes. Small steps. 

You didn’t blatantly disagree, but you didn’t agree either. You felt the eyes of both men on you as they waited to see what you would say. If you accepted, would you be a nuisance? Would officer Rogers have to go out of his way to get you a shirt, as well as bring it down for you? Or did they expect for you to change somewhere along the way back? But if you said no, that would be rude at this point... It was better just to go along, and hope for the best. 

“Thank y-you, sir,” you forced out of your now tight throat as you turned your head to direct your answer at the officer. “That’s v-very kind.” 

Bucky reached for the radio clasped onto his shoulder. 

“Barnes to Rogers, over.” 

A second’s silence, then the hiss of static, then you could hear the authoritative voice coming through the speaker. 

“Rogers here.” 

It wasn’t a secure line as it went to all the COs, so they kept things as formal as ever. 

“Could you come down to medical and bring a new long-sleeved shirt for an inmate?”

Bucky didn’t even need to mention that it was for you. They rarely cared for inmates in the way they cared for you, so whenever one of them would ask for the other to bring something for an inmate, it was bound to be you. And the fact that they were now the ones in charge of you was a big enough clue. That, and the fact that you had been in medical several times already, so the locations kind of gave it away. Safe to say; Steve got the message. 

“Yeah, sure,” he said through the crackling of the radio. “Be down in five.” 

Steve had only just made it out of the mailroom when Bucky had radioed in. His steps were eating up the floor rapidly as he made his way towards medical, now making a pitstop at the laundry room to get you a fresh and clean shirt. He was still a bit agitated after the run-in with Rumlow and his foul words were still etched in his mind and turning his thoughts sour, but it was quickly being consumed by the increasing worry for you. 

Just how badly were you hurt? A cut could mean lots of different variations in seriousness, and Steve knew better than to rule out anything severe simply on the basis that you hadn’t asked for help. You hadn’t asked for help with a broken wrist, barely even accepting it when it was already happening, and you certainly hadn’t gotten the help you probably needed after the... _incident_. 

Steve remembered your staggering steps back into the dorm that night. You could barely even stand up straight, and you couldn’t even make it all the way to your bunk without stopping and leaning on the wall for support. Perhaps you had needed medical attention after that encounter. But if you hadn’t called for help after something like that, you most certainly wouldn’t for a cut, no matter how serious. 

Steve was mentally scolding himself on an endless loop for letting it happen in the first place. He had thought that he had done enough by threatening Doggett, telling her to cut it out or face the consequences, but apparently not. She was a lunatic meth-head after all, in for a murder charge after killing a nurse at an abortion clinic based on her “religious beliefs”, so assaulting a fellow inmate wasn’t that farfetched. 

He had failed to protect you. He had failed not only on a professional level as an officer, but on a deeply personal level as well. They had said that they would protect you, yet Steve was once again on his way down to medical to see you, Bucky being the one taking you there. Sure, it wasn’t their doing this time, at least not directly, but the result was still very much the same; you, hurt. 

Steve walked into medical and went straight to the examination room where you were all still gathered. Bruce was now sitting at his desk, filling out some papers and logging things into the computer, and Bucky was still standing by the door to keep watch. He moved aside when Steve walked in to allow him through. 

“Hi,” Bucky said with an unsure smile. 

“Hey,” Steve said, letting the door fall close behind him. 

He looked over at where you sat, your back turned to them and staring down at the floor. When your head hung like that, revealing your neck, they could both see what was left of the bruises their fingers had painted on your skin that night. Their grip had been so tight, so violent. The more you struggled to get free, the harder they held you down. 

Steve looked away, not being able to take the harsh slap of reality hit him yet again, and directed his focus at Bruce who had only just looked up from his papers and greeted him with a small smile. 

“Hi.”

Steve just nodded his head in a small greeting manner. 

“How is she?” he asked, and Bruce looked over at your docile form. 

“Thirteen stitches all in all. Not too deep, so the risk of infection is mild. I’ve placed an antibacterial bandage over to keep it clean, but sadly I think it’ll scar no matter what...” 

You heard the apologetic tone of his voice as he said it, but for you it didn’t matter. One more serpentine on your body wouldn’t make a difference in the midst of all confetti to celebrate the vigour of your life. It would soon only be a memory, and not even one to make the top ten most horrible events of your survival. 

“I’ve given her some antibiotics and some pain suppressants, but I wanna keep it mild considering...” Bruce started, but left it at that. 

They all knew what he was referring to, there was no need to point it out. 

Steve nodded softly at Bruce, whose face was a clear-cut picture of the blues. It seemed the good nurse was having trouble staying indifferent and keeping things detached when it came to you. The things he had witnessed during your eventful stay at Litchfield was enough to cause anyone to feel the gloom of your existence. The hurt never seemed to end, and it was taking its toll to see it. 

Steve walked up to the cot, careful to keep his movements slow, like you were a timid and scared animal. Well, the timid and scared part fit. 

You saw him approach out of the corner of your eye, and you turned your head out of politeness. If you didn’t acknowledge him it would be like a slap in the face, and it might just earn you a slap in the face, so it was best to let him know what you saw him. 

“Here,” Steve said, and placed the clean shirt on the bed beside you. 

He backed away a step or two, giving you some space should you not only want it but need it. You greatly appreciated the gesture, but you had yet to find the courage to trust it. 

“Thank you, officer.” 

Bucky cleared his throat awkwardly, earning everyone’s attention. 

“We’ll... We’ll be right outside,” he said, and nodded for Steve to follow him out the door. 

You couldn’t help but wonder where the politeness and understanding of space had come from, but you weren’t going to question it. 

Bruce gave them both an appreciative nod and smile, knowing that they would be right outside the door, but it was still outside. They wouldn’t be far, and they wouldn’t fully turn their backs, but two COs allowed for a better handle should anything go wrong, so the offered privacy was much greater. 

Bruce got up from his chair and walked up to you, picking the shirt up from the bed. 

“Need some help?” he asked, not pushing, not prying. 

Your uncertain eyes shot up to his for a moment. He had already seen everything there was to see, and he had yet to make a snide comment, or make a disgusted grimace at the state of you. He had always been kind, at least to his best ability. The cuffs hadn’t been very kind, but you understood his side of things and why he had done it. So you nodded. 

“Yes, please.” 

You looked over your shoulder to see the officers just outside the door, their sides to you as to not blatantly stare but still able to keep an eye on things. It was the best you would get, so you just had to make due. 

Unzipping your hoodie, Bruce helped thread your arms through the holes and over your head, careful to not tug, pull or graze anything painful in the process. He did his best to get it done quickly and focus on the task, and not on the hideous bruises and scars littering the entirety of your body. Once the shirt was on, you were quick to pull the hoodie back on with a breath of relief following the coverage. A little too quick it would seem, as the cut stretched uncomfortably and caused you to hiss. 

“Ahh...” 

“Easy, easy,” Bruce said comfortingly. 

It didn’t sound or feel scoldingly, or in any way demeaning. It was just... comforting. And his gentle smile only aided in his show of kindness. 

“Thank you, sir,” you said, painting on a small smile just to be sure. 

Bruce helped you with the hoodie, making sure nothing was too bulky or caught on anything before zipping it up for you. Zipping it up proved a lot harder with a broken wrist than unzipping, so you were grateful for the help. 

Before you could thank him yet again, Bruce nodded towards the officers who were keeping a close eye on the whole ordeal. You jumped down from the cot once nurse Banner moved back to allow you to do so, giving him a small smile yet again, before averting your eyes in the presence of the other men. It was easier to keep your head down and not make a fuss about anything. You did what they told you to do, nothing more. 

“We all set?” Bucky asked with a smile through the doorway, looking from you to Bruce when you didn’t answer. 

“Good as new,” Bruce said, taking off his glasses to keep his hands busy. 

Steve and Bucky both looked at you where you stood beside Banner, looking as shy and scrunched up as usual. If not for your bouncing eyes along the floor you would look like a statue. 

“Yeah, so...” Bruce said, ending the tense moment. “The medication she’s on should be enough to dull both the pain in her wrist as well as her chest, but if not, we’ll up the dosage a bit.” 

He was talking both to Steve and Bucky as well as to you, trying to reassure you, but the information was dual. He was also telling the officers to be on the lookout for any signs of discomfort, because you were unlikely to speak up. They had all learned their lesson on that one, yet you still wouldn’t ask for help should you need it. 

“Good,” Steve said, taking a step back to create a space between himself and Bucky. “Thanks, doc. We’ll make sure she’s okay.” 

It sounded like they were saying their goodbyes, so you started shuffling towards them. The anxiety building in your chest made it feel like you were walking towards you doom, even though neither one of the officers seemed even the slightest bit irritated with you. You tried to force away the lump in your throat, but it seemed to have made a comfortable home there, refusing to be evicted. 

You pressed between the men, doing your best not to touch them in any way, but the heat of their bodies was very much prominent, and their towering height over you felt like you were being caged in. But it was only for a moment, before you had manged to squeeze through and come out alive on the other side. 

“Take care, Harper,” Bruce said once you were out the door, with the officers on your heel. 

You turned you head to say the well-practiced ‘thank you, sir’, but he had already gone back to his desk. Bruce understood that there was no way of keeping you from that trained subservience which never let you be impolite or rude, so he opted for getting the last word with no chance of you saying anything back. It was a small gesture of compassion from his part, but it was something. 

The officers walked you out of medical and into the vacant corridor adjacent to it. Inmates rarely kept to these parts of the prison, not unless they were on janitorial duty or passing through to get to the supply rooms further down. But right now, there was no one else around. Just you, and your abusers. Be still, my beating heart. 

Nothing violent had happened with either one of them in so long. Unless you counted the very awkward encounter with officer Barnes in the bubble, but that was not violent as much as it was confusing and terrifying. As long as the rules were kept hidden from you, you couldn’t trust anything they did or said. It felt like they were consciously luring you into safety, only to pull the rug from underneath you. 

Before you got too close to the common area, Steve halted and nodded for Bucky to do the same. By default, you stopped as soon as they did, not daring to take a step of defiance. You had Steve on your right, and Bucky on your left, both looking down at you as the silence started to grow uncanny. 

“I just wanted you to know that Doggett has been sent to Max for the duration of her stay,” Steve said, hoping it would bring you some comfort. 

What? Why had he done that? Did he know about what she had done to you, or was it related to something else? You didn’t know whether to thank him or not, or maybe ask what happened. Your mouth was opening and closing on a loop, no words coming out. 

Steve and Bucky shared a sad look, knowing that fear was at the root of it all. And since neither Bucky nor you knew what had transpired with Pennsatucky, Steve went on to tell you both. 

“She told me what happened between you two. About the drugs.”

Oh, no. This was bad. Now the officers knew the truth and it hadn’t come from you. You should have spilled the beans right away and taken your punishment. Now you were in an even bigger mess, and the punishment would most likely be even worse. The least you could do was say that you were sorry. 

You tried to swallow down the lump, which was proving difficult, but you managed to squeak some words out despite that. 

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I... I’m sorry...” 

What more could you say? ‘Sorry, but I was too afraid of getting a beating if I said anything’? You probably should though... Nate always liked to come down even harder on you whenever you tried to get out of a punishment. Perhaps that would restore the playing field with the officers as well? Truthfully, you were not only afraid of the upcoming punishment for not saying anything about the ‘deal’ Doggett had forced you into, but also that you didn’t want to be a bother. And you getting into trouble? Well, it was a bother if anything. 

“I d-didn’t w-wanna bother you w-with it...” you said while the floor was still yours, hoping that it would earn you some sympathy rather than the alternative. 

You heard the men sigh in unison, and you mentally prepared yourself for what was undoubtably coming. Hiking up your shoulder to try and protect your chest and wrist just the same, you braced for impact, in whatever form. A harsh grip of your arm to tug you away to somewhere more private? A kick at the back of the knee to send you reeling to the floor? A simple slap to start things off? They were officers, and you were an inmate. If anyone was to see a takedown, or the use of one or more of the tools available on their belts, no one would bat an eye; you had probably done something to deserve it. And you had. You had lied, and you had deceived them. 

“Jess, you should’ve said something,” Bucky said, his voice unexpectedly gentle. “We would’ve helped you.” 

You couldn’t hide the surprise at his caring tone and words. They would have helped you? How? And more importantly; what would it have cost you? They had yet to collect any payments, except for the one for killing Nate, and you could not live through something like that again. Just the thought of it was enough for your pulse to start ringing in your ears, your chest seizing up and making it hard to draw breath. Don’t go there. Not now. 

"I'm sorry..." 

Steve saw the struggle written on your face. You didn’t believe them, and how could you? They had given you no reason to trust them. They were working on it, but one step in the right direction just would cut it. 

“It doesn’t matter now,” Steve said gently. “She’s gone, and she’s not coming back. But... we failed you, Jess. Again. We said that we would keep you safe, and we didn’t. That’s on us.” 

Steve looked up at Bucky. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “We’re so sorry, Jess. We—... _I_ shouldn’t have left you alone like that. I thought I was doing the right thing, and I wanted to give you some space, but... I shouldn’t have left you unsupervised like that. And for that I’m sorry.” 

What was happening? Both officers were apologizing, taking the blame for what had happened, and neither one blamed you for it? They didn’t yell, they didn’t chastise you, or threaten you in any way... What was happening? 

“I...” you started, having no idea what to say. “It’s o-okay... You-you couldn’t h-have known, sir. You w-were just doing w-what you thought was best, and, and I’m v-very grateful.” 

Please God, let that be right! Please let that be what he wanted to hear, because you couldn’t think of anything else. Was their goal to make you sooth their worry, let them know that what they were doing was okay? It was foreign to you, but you were sure you could do it. After all, they had every right to do what they wanted. That’s what you kept telling yourself. And their actions seemed to agree. They had every right to do what they wanted to do. They had every right. 

“I know you are,” Bucky said, trying to keep his disappointment out of his voice. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you got hurt.” 

Bucky and Steve looked between themselves and you, sighing, contemplating on the best course of action at this point. They had said that they would look out for you, work the extra hours even, just to keep you safe. But it was becoming clear to them that you were in more danger than they had initially thought. And with no heads-up before taking you on as their charge, they had no plan for the nights, or when they weren’t here. 

Had they known, they would have divided the shifts between them so one of them was always on site, but they were already in the thick of it. They would have to leave in a few hours, despite working overtime and trying to draw out the inevitable. They would have to leave you for the night. Leave you exposed. They had to do something. 

“Are you thinking what I’m thinkin’?” Bucky asked Steve. 

Again, it was not a new concept to have people talk over your head like that, and you knew your place well. So you just stood there, silent, and waited. 

“That Healy was right?” Steve offered, slightly defeated to even think of it. 

Bucky nodded, jutting his jaw out when he realized that there was no better option. 

“Yeah,” he said. “I think it’s the safest bet. At least when we’re not here.” 

“I agree.” 

Your breathing started picking up, breaths becoming shallow and short as you tried to not listen in on their conversation, tried not to come any rash conclusions before they addressed you. But the merry-go-round in your head mocked you, telling you that you were right. For once. And you hated to think that it was true. 

They weren’t talking about _that_ , were they? They had said that they weren’t going to do that. And Bruce had even uttered his concern for you. No, there must be something else. Something that wasn’t as bad. Just... anything. 

Bucky and Steve knew they had no other choice. It they did, they certainly wouldn’t make this one freely. But it was to keep you safe. 

“I’m sorry, Jess,” Steve said, voice soft as honey as he was the barer of the bad news. “But we’re gonna have to move you to solitary.”

And there it was. 

The rug was ripped from under you, the playing field had changed. And there was no way out for you. 

You should have spilled the beans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, dear... How will our dear Jess handle solitary confinement, yet again? 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who reads this fic! I am eternally grateful to each and every one of you, and you are all amazing human beings <3 
> 
> Please take care of yourselves, and reach out to someone if you need to. It is a crazy time to be alive, and you are not alone <3 I love you <3


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ghost from the past can haunt the present...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my fellow Harpies! 
> 
> Some news: I'm moving out of my parents' basement, yay! I'm moving next week and will be quite busy, so we're not out of the woods of waiting just yet, but I hope things will move forward faster once I'm on my own again :) 
> 
> Not the longest chapter, but the aye's had it when I asked you guys on tumblr, so here it is! And whoever can tell me where the inspiration for some of this writing came from (not just you, Denise (Pumpkin_Empanada) :* ) will... Well, I can't really give you anything, but at least it will be something to bond over, right? ;) 
> 
> Don't forget to check out my tumblr page here; https://jojjokiwi.tumblr.com/ I will upload some amazing fanart made for this fic, so stayed tuned there! And write me if you want, would love to hear from you!
> 
> Without further ado; Enjoy!
> 
> TRIGGERWARNING!
> 
> Blood, depression, hallucinations (?), icky food

Steve and Bucky were standing in the reception area, finishing up some of the last work for the day. They had just left you down in solitary, closing the door as a fearful tear spilled from your eye. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other yet, just sighing or groaning as the ache ate away at them after seeing you like that. Again. It was for your own safety and protection, they knew that and they kept telling themselves that, but apparently that didn’t make it any easier.

They feared for your mental state and what the confinement might do to you psychologically when left to your own device. The never-ending light in the cramped cement box held little regard or respect for sleep, or perception of time. One minute could pass and feel like an hour. A day could pass yet you would feel like you were still in that first minute after the door locked behind you. How many ghosts would haunt you in that time?

They would never forgive themselves if something happened to you, and this was the best way of making sure that didn’t happen. They would go down to the SHU every day to make sure that you were alright, and personally bring you food during their shifts. They were even thinking of sneaking a book in just to make sure that you had something to occupy your mind with. They couldn’t do much besides that, but they hoped the small gestures and favours would help you keep your sanity, and all in good time, hopefully get you to warm up to them.

Steve logged the last information into the computer, glancing sideways at Bucky to try and get a read on him. He looked as stoic as Steve felt. Steve let out a small sigh through his nose, effectively breaking the tension filled silence between them before speaking.

“We’ll be back again tomorrow morning. _Early_ tomorrow morning.”

He wasn’t really sure who he was trying to convince with his small peptalk, but it didn’t seem to matter since it didn’t have the desired effect. The notion was supposed to be comforting, but all Steve could think of was that a whole night would have to pass before they could see if you were alright with being on your own, hoping and praying that you were, and it was only afternoon. Sleep probably wouldn’t be a comfort for anyone tonight. 

Bucky tried to shift the focus of the situation as to not dig themselves deeper in the despair they themselves had caused.

“I’d hate to admit that Healy was right, but as long as she’s safe and away from harm, I’d gladly kiss his ass.” 

Healy was by no means a clever man, and rarely had the inmate’s interests in mind. He only wanted to keep the smooth sailing of the system going with as few interruptions to his daily routine as possible, and if removing an inmate from his path would do that, then so be it. It wasn’t ill-will in any way, he wasn’t spiteful, just not very keen on doing more than he had to, or figure out solutions for himself. He was an old dog with an old trick, and so far that trick had served him well. 

“I second that,” Steve said, throwing the papers in the bin heading for the shredder. “It’s a cruel solution in… well, I guess any given situation to send someone to the SHU for their own protection, but it does work.” 

They had both been so withdrawn, so caught up in their own thoughts and work to do that they had failed to hear the approaching footsteps coming from the corridor. And they had definitely not heard the eavesdropper when he had showed up moments earlier in the room behind them, overhearing the ongoing conversation. 

“Who’s in the SHU for their own protection?” Healy asked as he came from the adjoining hallway. 

He came to a stop by the front desk, his jacket already on and his travel mug in hand filled with coffee for the car ride home. His smile was as dumb as ever, not realizing that he had interrupted a private conversation. 

There was a slight tick in Bucky’s jaw, then a deep and hopefully calming breath was drawn before answering.

“Jess Harper is in solitary confinement for her own protection. It seems the other inmates are on her case more than we initially estimated.” 

Bucky didn’t want to fess up to him and Steve failing in making sure that you were kept safe, but he knew that Healy would ask. And he would not ask a simple ‘why’, he would ask ‘what happened to your original plan of protecting her?’, and that was a blow Bucky couldn’t take right now. 

“Is that so?” Healy asked, fighting the slight triumphant grin threatening to spill. 

Steve looked up, seeing the glimmer of glee in the other man’s eyes. 

“The solution is not ideal, Healy, and if there was any other way of protecting her when we’re not here, then we wouldn’t hesitate, but there’s not.” 

Steve hated that good ol’ counsellor Healy almost seemed to enjoy your discomfort, as long as it meant that he had been right, and Steve and Bucky had been wrong. How anyone could enjoy the misfortune of others was beyond Steve, especially someone working as a counsellor for said inmate. One would think he had more heart and compassion than that, but apparently not. 

“We’ll still keep an eye on her and make sure she’s alright,” Bucky added. “We haven’t forgotten her, and we don’t plan to leave her, if that’s what you thought.”

He knew he was being a bit aggressive in both attitude and tone, but Bucky didn’t care. Healy was looking as smug as he’d ever seen him, only one thing in mind; his own ego, which sadly had been given an accidental boost. 

“Didn’t think you would,” Healy said smugly. “The boys in blue to the rescue! Wouldn’t leave a damsel in distress, now, would they?” 

The self-satisfaction was basically pouring off of him, his voice jubilant and mocking in both tone and words. 

“Healy,” Steve said in a warning tone as the man all but strutted towards the doors. 

There was no need to act all high-and-mighty over your misfortune, even if he had got one thing right this time. But it wasn’t like Healy had come up with the idea, or was in any way a frontier, but he seemed to take all the credit anyway. 

Healy just held up his free hand in a sarcastic manner of defeat. He could tell that the officers weren’t in a good mood, but frankly he didn’t care. 

“See you around, boys,” he said, a last and feeble attempt at an insult to convey superiority. 

Neither one said anything back, jaws so clenched their molars ground together to keep from uttering words not suited for the workplace. Bucky let out a heavy sigh as he leaned against the counter, his shoulders sagging down along with his head. 

“I take back what I said, I’m never kissing that man’s ass,” he said, which ironically got a chuckle from Steve and lightened the mood a bit. 

“Let’s hope Jess is fine in solitary without it, then,” Steve said, giving Bucky a comforting smile. 

Bucky nods his head where it hangs heavy, the muscles in his neck pulling in a nice stretch. 

“Yeah…” he said with another sigh, the last of the exasperation leaving him. 

“Come on,” Steve said with a hard pat on Bucky’s shoulder. “Let’s go home. The sooner we go home, the sooner we can come back.” 

A statement which in part was true, but as long as they were still at the prison Bucky felt like he was still close to you, and he would bet money on Steve feeling the same. They were like longing, lovesick puppies almost, which felt as pathetic as it sounded, but they didn’t care. Whatever they felt for you, it was strong. Strong enough to impact every thought, every emotion, and twist them into worry for you and where you were; alone. 

Had they gone through the backroom they would have spotted their eavesdropper, but Rumlow was still very much unseen and unheard. He had overheard their conversation, getting some leverage for his thoughts of something being up between you and the officers, although he could not be sure what. It could be platonic. It could be just a normal amount of worry on their part, believing your innocence and therefore protecting you at all cost, even though in Rumlow’s mind it was clear as day that you deserved every bit of what had already come for you, and what was still to come. But it could also be something more. 

Twice now he had heard Rogers use your first name instead of your last, which was unusual no matter how much one would twist or turn it. The guards almost always used the last name when talking to or about an inmate, save for troubled moments when a helping or grounding hand was needed. But this was not one of those times. It seemed more like they wanted to ground themselves, and used your name to do so. 

But the information most valuable for Brock was you whereabouts. So… You were in solitary confinement. That was convenient, seeing as it was the part of the prison connecting minimum to maximum, and he knew those halls like the back of his hand. It was guarded by the Max officers, meaning his colleagues and friends, and no one would think it weird that he was down there. Yes. The SHU would do nicely. 

O.o.O.o.O 

You stared at the door. You just kept staring at it. Like it would open if you just willed it enough. But it didn’t move. It didn’t even seem to hear your silent prayer. Just mocking you with its stillness. 

Screams. There were loud screams coming from all directions, traveling through the vent to allow even the furthest ones to welcome you. They were just yelling. Yelling nothings, just screams of terror and despair, screaming at the solitude. At the silence. At the stillness. But even in all the loudness the silence lay steadily somehow. Like a suffocating blanket covering the entire cement box with nothing but you in it as a living organism. The walls were just as thick as you remembered them. The floor was just as dirty, and the air was just as cold. There was no warmth, no comfort. Just a cement box with a cot and a sink. And you. 

You were trembling now, the chill eating its way down to your bones and settling there, spreading through every muscle and every vein. You let out a quavering breath, letting yet another warm tear slide down your cold cheek, leaving an itchy track in its wake. Please. Just open. 

So this was the punishment you got. This was the prize you would have to pay for not telling the officers about the drugs. About Doggett. Not when it happened, and not after either when you had the chance. A mistake. That was a mistake. You’ve made many of those. Too many. 

Was this just the start of it all? Had they just decided the setting while the rest was still to come? Maybe this was just the beginning, an appetizer before the main course would arrive where you would be brought to your knees in more ways than one. It wouldn’t be surprising. Nothing was surprising anymore. You were still kept in the dark about this game, the rules still unclear. They seemed to prefer it that way; to keep you guessing. So the only thing you could do to keep from going insane, to keep from digging yourself deeper and deeper and deeper into the abyss, was to simply…wait.

And so you did. You waited. 

You would wait.

You would sleep. 

You would walk. 

On and on it went and nothing ever changed. There were screams. There was silence. There was the mocking door, as closed and locked as ever. Not even when you stopped willing it to unlock and reveal freedom would it open. Not when you sat leaned against it. Not when you traced the lines of the words scraped into the paint would it as much as make a sound. It stayed locked. And mocking. 

As long as you just kept doing that, just kept on waiting, kept on sleeping and walking, your mind stayed put. It stayed in the present. It heard the screams from the adjoining cells, even though it stopped caring about them after a while. It heard the silence, and let it be without trying to fill it with noise. As long as you would wait. As long as you would sleep. As long as you would walk. Even though you walked alone. Even though you slept alone. 

Hours must have passed. You weren’t sure how many, but you knew that it was hours and not minutes. Perhaps it was even a day. No. No, not a day yet. There hadn’t been any food delivered so it must still be the same day. Or perhaps night. You didn’t know how long you had been sleeping whenever you slept, you just knew that you had to keep the routine. You had to keep the momentum of the routine going for it to work. So you needed food. You needed it to be a part of the routine so it wouldn’t be in interruption. You needed food. 

The hatch rattled and creaked, and a grey tray was sent through, held there by your captor. 

“Breakfast,” a man said roughly from the other side. “Or… whatever comes before that. Just take the fucking tray, inmate!” 

You hurried over to the hatch from the corner of the bed in which you sat huddled, and quickly grabbed the tray from his impatient hands before the hatch was slammed shut as you slumped to the floor by its side. You heard him mutter in annoyance on the other side, but you couldn’t make out any words. Probably better that way anyway. You didn’t need any more wood added to the fire of hate people seemed so eager to burn. Perhaps they were building a witches stake. Death by the burning of hatred. Now that’s one for the books. 

The lump of… well, something mashed together to make a mass was just sitting there on the tray, staring back at you as you examined it. It smelled foul, like it had been sitting too long in the fridge without any cover, soaking up the taste of the other rotting foods in there. That thought alone didn’t exactly paint an alluring picture in your mind, but you knew there was no alternative. It was either this… _cluster_ or nothing at all, and nothing at all wouldn’t be a part of the routine, and you desperately needed it to be. 

Upon the first bite of whatever it was supposed to be, you knew it had turned bad. You hadn’t expected prison food to be fresh or tasty (especially not in the SHU), but you hadn’t exactly thought it would be on the verge of moulding either. And as it turned out, it wasn’t on the verge… Still, you powered it down. It became a part of the routine. The guard came back to fetch the tray only a few minutes later, not trusting inmates with anything for long. As soon as it was handed back, the hatch slammed shut and the silence grew yet again. And there were no screams this time to drown it out. It was just silent. 

It grew by the second, becoming heavier and heavier, bigger and bigger, until it felt like it was coming from within you. And it spread, it spread everywhere in you, this nothing, until you couldn’t feel anything anymore. It grew in your chest like a big, empty black hole consuming you from within until all you could feel was… nothing. There was nothing. You were nothing. You were just floating in this ocean of nothing. Just darkness. And numbness. And alone.

You just sat there by the door, staring out into the abyss of grey around you, not seeing anything, not feeling anything. It was so quiet that it became loud. Deafening even. The silence was screaming in your ears, inside your head, inside your soul. Screaming for you to feel the nothing, surrender to it, to let it devour you completely. And the longer you sat there the louder it got. And the quieter it got. The world faded away. You faded away. 

Was this how it felt to die? Was this what death felt like when you didn’t choose it? It didn’t feel like this before. It had been warm. It had been soft and comforting. It had been easy. So why did this feel so much? And so little? Why was there nothing?

“’Cause you’re going insane.” 

Your head snapped towards the bed when his voice rang out in the room, breaking the sheet of glass which had obscured your vision, and let you see again. He was just sitting there, half leaning back against the wall and flipping a knife in his hand. He looked over at you, tossing the knife confidently to his other hand as he did. 

“Miss me?” 

A quivering breath fanned over your lips upon the sight of who was casually occupying your bed. 

“…Nate...?” 

A grin spread across his face, eyes almost gleaming with mirth when meeting your tearful eyes staring back at him in disbelief. 

“You didn’t really think I was gone, did ya, Jessie?” 

Of all the times he had haunted you, haunted your day as well as your night without a care for your life as it went on, it had never felt like it did now. He wasn’t a flashback, because this had never happened. He wasn’t really here, because he was dead. He was buried. He was gone. 

“I’m dreaming...” you whispered, caught in the moment. “Aren’t I?” 

“Well, of course,” Nate said, angling the blade to reflect the light from the ceiling onto the wall. “I’m a dream, and so are you, and so are we, and so is this, and so... it goes.”

He started humming. He started humming random tunes as he waited for you to catch up, to get your shit together and realize what was happening. And all you could do was stare at him as he hummed, as he played with that knife as nonchalantly as you had ever seen him. He didn’t seem too bothered about being there in the first place, let alone bothered by the fact that he was a figment of your imagination.

He looked over at you, watching the cogs and wheels turning in your head. 

“Figure it out yet?” 

You turned your head to face him, yet another tear falling, but it wasn’t warm. Or cold. It was just… there. 

“What?” 

Nate just smirked at you, scoffing even as he turned his attention back to the knife, leaving you unanswered. 

You could hear him. You could see him. He was right there. Right over there, in a bloodied shirt and a knife in his hands. _That knife_. The one that took his life. He was holding it, playing with it like it had never done him any harm, like it was a trusted friend. He was right there. 

No, no, no. Get it together. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. It’s. Not. Real. 

“Oh, it’s real, alright,” he said, letting his head drop backwards against the cement. “Just as real as that mouldy shit you just ate. What was that anyway? ‘Cause it looked like shit to me. Maybe it was,” he said through a chuckle. 

It was the strangest of dreams. It felt so real. He looked so real where he sat on your bed, just mere feet away from you, even telling you that it was real. As well as a dream. But it was a dream. It had to be. Unless… unless you had in fact lost your mind. Let it wander too far away even though it felt like it had stayed present this entire time. Could you be insane? Surely it would have to take more than this to render you in the cuckoo's nest? But then again, maybe not. What did it take? All but twelve hours? 

“Hm, something like that,” he answered, following the movement of the knife with his eyes. “You suppressed it long enough with all that sleeping, pushing me out, but then you started walking…tsk tsk,” he tutted disapprovingly at you. "Gotta watch your mind, Jessie-girl. It can wander as much as you." 

“H-how… H-how are y-you here?” you stuttered out, not understanding anything. 

If this was a dream then it sure was vivid. If this was real then you were clinically insane. If this was some sort of twisted form of flashback you’d never had before, then you should feel something. Anything. But there was nothing. There was just you. And him. And nothing.

You didn’t dare move a muscle. You didn’t even look away, you just stared at him where he sat. You were afraid something might change, something that could tell you the truth of what this was. And as long as you stayed put, he stayed put. Then nothing changed. Then he was still here. Then you weren’t alone. 

Nate chuckled, honestly amused by your stupidity. He looked at you almost endearingly. 

“Well, I’m here because you want me to be, sweet cheeks. I’m here… because your mind has burned through all that was left of your sanity, exhausted every possible means of escape, and was left with nothing but me. Welcome to Thunderdome.” 

You should know better than to listen to his scornful words, always twisting the truth to keep you in the dark. But perhaps he was right. Perhaps you wanted him here. You just wanted anyone here. As long as you weren’t alone. It was better to have a ghost from the past in here with you, than nothing at all. 

But of course, he wasn’t there. He was dead. He was just in your head. It was like he said: this was the last resort. Your mind had burned through everything else, and come up with nothing but a ghost to keep you grounded. As long as he was here you were alive. This was not insanity, it was just a coping mechanism. 

“Hmm,” Nate muttered from where he sat. “Kinda insulting, don’t you think? Just a coping mechanism? I thought I meant more to you than that. But then again, you certainly were a coping mechanism for me, so… I guess we’re even now, huh?” 

There was something about this whole thing that didn’t sit well with you. A lot of things in fact. There were so many questions left unanswered. 

“Why didn’t you show up sooner?” you asked, voice surprisingly steady. 

It was a valid question. You had been in solitary before, yet he didn’t show up. You had felt nothing before, perhaps just not as strongly, yet he stayed away. So why now?

“Guess you always had something keeping your mind occupied before now. Something to fear. Something to focus on. Seeing as this is trip number two to this godforsaken shithole, you knew that you were screwed as soon as they said the word ‘solitary’. You knew what awaited you down here. All alone. So, inevitably, your mind started deteriorating. It started breaking you down. Piece. By agonizing. Frickin’. Piece.” 

He punctuated each word with a harsh stab at the cement wall, the impact of it sounding like a loud and shrieking pounding against glass. You drew your hands up to cover your ears, trying to shut out the sound but it was just too loud. 

“Stop it…” you begged, but he just kept stabbing and stabbing until blood started pouring from the wall. 

It poured and poured until it pooled on the floor, reaching out to you to stain your very existence in its warm embrace. And he just kept stabbing and stabbing, and more and more blood poured from the walls. From every crack. And he just smiled. 

You closed your eyes as tight as you could, pressing the palms of your hands into your ears to shut him out, but he wouldn’t stop. Not even your loud, rapid breathing helped drown it out. It got louder and louder, until you couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Stop it!” 

You woke with a start, sitting straight up in bed, panting like your lungs hadn’t drawn breath for years. Your eyes shot around the room, finding it as empty and cold as ever. Spinning around as if there was a presence behind you, you looked at where you yourself had just laid sleeping, where Nate had been sitting. But he wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere. He had never been here. It was just a dream. 

Gasp after gasp of chilly and scratchy air sounded it the room, drowning out the distant screaming from the cells further down the hallway. A shiver coursed through your body, a tremor of cold and misery making the hairs on your body raise up in a futile defence to keep you warm and safe. Disappointment crowded relief when you realized that you could feel something again. The nothingness was gone. It had all just been a horrible dream. He was gone. You were safe back in bed. Locked away from the world. Alone. 

The heaviness of sorrow and fear filled you to the brim once more, stretching through every fibre of your being. You were alone. And you were afraid. But it was something. It was something. It was better than that horrible, empty nothing spreading in your soul, leaving you to drown in it. You just had to feel something, you had to feel anything. Fear was better than nothing. Anything was better than nothing. 

The hatch on the door rattled and creaked, and a grey tray was sent through.

“Breakfast,” a man said roughly from the other side. “Or… whatever comes before that. Just take the fucking tray, inmate!” 

You hurried over to the hatch and quickly grabbed the tray from his impatient hands before the hatch was slammed shut. You heard him mutter in annoyance on the other side, but you couldn’t make out any words. Probably better that way anyway. 

The lump of… well, something mashed together to make a mass was just sitting there on the tray, staring back at you as you examined it. It smelled foul, like it had been sitting too long in the fridge without any cover, soaking up the taste of the other rotting foods—

Wait. You had thought all this before. This had all happened before. The hatch, the grouchy guard, the molehill of food-like substance on your tray. This had already happened. This is what you dreamt. You had eaten it, then… then Nate had showed up. 

With hopeful eyes you turned your head slowly towards the bed, as if to give him time to manifest. As if to give reality a chance to keep up with your dream and create something out of nothing. Just something to show you that whatever strange déjà vu this was, it meant something. Anything. 

But the bed was empty when you looked. He wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t; it had all just been a dream. A very bad dream. 

You could still recall what he had said. That he was a product of the absence of fear. As long as you had something to focus on, he stayed away. Sure, he would most likely always haunt your dreams in some way, but hopefully not to this extent. Not this vivid. Not this horrifying. As long as you feared, as long as you let the present flood your mind, the past would leave you be. 

So you stayed present. You stayed grounded. And he wasn’t here. He wasn’t going to show up either. It was just a dream. Just a dream. He wasn’t going to come. No one was going to come.

There was no one. You were alone. It was just you. 

And absolute reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... feeling "haunted" yet? The ones who know, knows ;) 
> 
> Don't forget to check out my tumblr page here; https://jojjokiwi.tumblr.com/ I will upload some amazing fanart made for this fic, so stayed tuned there! And write me if you want, would love to hear from you!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked what you read. Please leave a comment and let me know what you think about the story as this is my very first fic and would like to know if there's anything I could do better, or if you have any ideas or anything that you would like to share. Somehow it fights writersblock... ;)


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